


take the road less travelled by

by sergiosraquel



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: ...way more angst than i thought there would be LOL, AU, Angst, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, alternative universe, generally just me throwing as many tropes at serquel as possible, obvs, there will also be smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 18:54:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 81,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25600159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sergiosraquel/pseuds/sergiosraquel
Summary: AU || When Sergio Marquina met Raquel Murillo in the diner that day, he didn't anticipate that he was meeting his best friend, nor did he anticipate falling in love with her.Six years on, with equally disastrous luck when it comes to dating, a blissfully unaware Raquel has a proposition for Sergio.Because friends help each other out, right?
Relationships: Raquel Murillo/Professor | Sergio Marquina
Comments: 798
Kudos: 778





	1. take the words for what they are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely people! :)
> 
> I'm really new to the Sergio & Raquel/La Casa De Papel fandom - I only finished watching it two weeks ago and Serquel had me by the throat from the very beginning.
> 
> I heard the song 'illicit affairs' on Taylor Swift's new album and the idea for this fic came to mind, so I'm just gonna go with it and see how things play out! Each chapter will be titled a particular lyric from illicit affairs, so I guess you could say that the soundtrack to this fic is just that song...on...repeat.
> 
> I'll update as and when I can (I don't know how often it will be, sorry!) depending on my schedule with work and other stuff.
> 
> I really hope people enjoy this, let me know what you think, and please do cry along with me, ha!

Raquel sighs as she reaches over to the pizza box, flipping the lid open in one swift movement and tearing off another slice. She feels the bemused eyes that follow her, devouring a bite nonetheless as she slumps back onto the sofa. 

Sergio smiles beside her. “I thought you were full?” 

“I could do without your judgement right now,” Raquel says, not even bothering to cover her mouth with her hand. 

“I’m not judging you,” Sergio offers, and despite the low quality of her mood, she can hear the sincerity in his voice. 

“Well, it feels like you are,” she bites back, albeit harmlessly, still chewing her way through a mouthful of pepperoni pizza. “Can’t say I blame you, though.” 

Sergio hands her a napkin and she takes it from him with gratitude, dabbing gently at the corners of her mouth. “I mean, I always thought I was just going for the wrong guys, but...” Raquel pauses thoughtfully, throwing the used napkin onto the pizza box, “...maybe I’m the problem.” 

“You are _not_ the problem,” Sergio interjects, definitively. 

“No?” Raquel shifts on the sofa, curling her legs beneath her as she turns to face him, “because there’s a common denominator here, Sergio.” 

He looks at her blankly, and she scoffs in return. 

_“Me,”_ Raquel points out matter-of-factly. _“I’m_ the common denominator.”

“Right,” he mumbles, pushing his glasses back onto his nose in his typical awkward manner, “of course.” There’s a pause, and then, “n-not _of course_ as in _yes, you’re the problem,_ j-just _of course_ as in—”

“It’s fine, Sergio,” Raquel interrupts, placing a tentative hand on his knee, “I knew what you meant.” She wears a look of bemusement on her face, shaking her head lightly at him.

“What’s funny?” he asks, blushing involuntarily under her gaze. 

Raquel gives his knee a gentle squeeze as she giggles, oblivious to the way Sergio flinches ever-so-slightly beneath her touch. _“You,”_ she says fondly, only grinning further at his flummoxed expression, “you’re always so…”

“Socially inept?” he offers dryly, fiddling with the knot of his tie. 

“I was gonna say awkward,” Raquel replies with a smirk, “but your definition will do.” She averts her gaze to the floor as she picks up her glass of wine, and in doing so, misses the momentary look of disappointment on his face. 

He clears his throat. “Does it bother you?” he asks as Raquel starts to flick through the TV channels absentmindedly. 

“Doeswhat bother me?” 

“How...how _awkward_ I am?” 

The TV comes to a halt then, with Raquel settling for an episode of some trash reality TV show. Truth be told, she’s far more occupied with what’s being said by the man beside her. 

“Are you kidding?” she asks in disbelief as she places her glass of wine back onto the floor. “Sergio, _of course_ it doesn’t bother me.” Her hand finds its way back to his knee again as she seeks out eye contact. “It’s actually kind of endearing,” she smiles. 

“No offence, Raquel, but you _have_ to say that,” Sergio grumbles, nudging his glasses with the pad of his thumb again, “you’re my best friend.” 

“Exactly,” she muses, unphased, “which is _why_ I wouldn’t say something to you if I didn’t mean it.” 

He rolls his eyes at that, repeatedly floored by the way she responds to anything and _everything_ that he says with such ease and intelligence. 

Sergio, on the other hand, is a complete and utter _car crash_ when it comes to human interaction _._ A socially awkward, _averse-to-any-emotions_ kind of car crash that simply railroads off of the highway whenever faced with a remotely intimate situation. 

Or, simply put, faced with a _female_. 

He’s had girlfriends in the past, of course, dating his first love who _wasn’t really_ his first love at _all_ back in high school, and then another fling _(ish)_ with one of his brother’s friends around seven years ago. 

The latter was the result of excessive alcohol consumption at a wedding, mixed with Sergio’s crippling awkwardness and general inability to reject a woman’s (very _rare)_ advances. 

For that reason, he isn’t even sure if she counts. 

All in all, his experience (or _lack_ thereof) led to very little awareness when it came to women, not to mention the absence of confidence, too. 

Raquel was right, he _was_ awkward, even around her. It was seemingly his default setting, despite the fact that he was more comfortable around her than he’d ever been around anyone else in his entire life. 

They’d met at a local diner six years ago under genuinely out of the blue circumstances. It was random, it was unexpected, and it all started with Raquel asking the bartender for a phone charger. 

“You can use mine,” Sergio had said, handing his phone over with kind eyes. 

“Are you sure?” was Raquel’s reply, “I need to make some calls.” 

He’d gestured with a wave of the hand in return, assuring her that it really was no problem, and so she’d taken the phone and handed it back again within the space of two minutes. 

Of course, neither party had any idea that such a small interaction would lead to a friendship like no other, but one chance meeting at the diner had turned into several chance meetings, which then turned into the _not-so-coincidental_ crossing of paths as both calculated how they could “accidentally” bump into the other.

Eventually, Raquel took it upon herself to arrange an _official_ meeting, asking Sergio if he wanted to get together at the diner for a drink sometime. He’d agreed without so much as a moment of hesitation, although he never quite allowed himself to assume that she was asking on anything other than a friendlybasis. 

And, sure enough, he’d been right to do so. 

That night, Raquel told him that she was seeing someone (something that ended as _quickly_ as it had started, may he add), but at the time, Sergio had taken that as a definitive indication - this woman was completely off limits for someone like him. 

She was fierce and confident, ambitious and alluring; he was just the introvert with a love for origami. 

Well, that’s how Sergio saw their dynamic, anyway. And, sure, Raquel had denied it for as long as he could remember, always being the one to tell him that there was a seductive and somewhat mystical side to him - he just hadn’t quite revealed it. 

“You’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met,” she’d said to him one night over dinner, “you just haven’t found the right one, yet.” 

He’d smiled at her coyly in return, hoping she wouldn’t notice the light blush he could feel spreading across his cheeks. “I...I think you bring out the best version of me that there is, Raquel.” 

And that was the closest Sergio had ever got to telling her that _she_ was the right person. _The only person,_ in fact, for him. 

But Raquel wasn’t a mind reader, so she’d simply dismissed the comment with a shy, gratuitous smile, telling him that he, too, brought out the best side of her. 

Sergio hadn’t ever tried to address the subject of their compatibility again after that, rather just being there as a helping hand whenever her lack of compatibility with the men she dated came into play. 

Like tonight, for example. 

“Have you finished?” he says to her, keen to steer from the teasing subject of his noticeable awkward behavior. 

Raquel sighs. “With the pizza or with _men?”_ she asks, cocking her head to one side, “because, honestly? I’d say yes to both as it stands.” 

“Are you sure?” Sergio questions hesitantly, eliciting a scoff from the woman beside him.

“Am I sure?” she huffs, “tonight is up there with one of _the worst_ second dates I’ve ever been on, a-and given my track record, I’d say that—” 

“I meant are you sure you’re done with the pizza,” Sergio interrupts gently, careful not to irritate her further. 

“Oh.” Raquel laughs with a shake of the head, amused at her best friend’s timid response to the way she so easily flew off the handle. “Yes,” she reassures, “sorry, _yes,_ I really am done this time.” 

“With the men, of course?” Sergio smirks back, leaning over to the coffee table as he starts to pack up the takeout boxes. 

Raquel lifts a cushion from under her back, hitting him playfully with it in retaliation. “Yes,” she grins, eyes following him into the kitchen of her home, _“completely_ done with the men.” 

“I thought as much,” he muses, shooting her a teasing look over his shoulder. But, soon enough he stops in his tracks, placing the pizza boxes on the kitchen counter before he does so. “Can I get you anything else?” he offers sincerely, leaning against the door frame now, “Tea? Coffee? _More wine_?”

“You know this is _my_ house, Sergio,” Raquel says. She often feels in a permanent state of disbelief when it comes to his above and beyond manners. “You’re technically the guest here. I should be offering to bring _you_ drinks.” 

“Nonsense,” he shrugs, “I’m not the one recovering from a bad second date.” 

“The _worst_ second date.” 

“Apologies,” he clears his throat melodramatically, “the _worst_ second date.” 

Raquel is helpless to do anything but smile at him, getting to her feet and meeting him at the door frame. She rests her hands against the lapels of his suit jacket, leaning into him with such ease that Sergio has to remind himself of the platonic nature of their relationship. 

“At least let me help you with the tea,” she says. 

Sergio raises his brow at that, eyeing her up suspiciously. “Tea?” he queries, “are you sure?” 

“No,” Raquel replies bluntly, eliciting a laugh from the man before her, “who am I trying to kid?” 

He’s careful not to show the twinge of disappointment he feels when she takes a step back, painting a smile on his face, instead. “Wine it is, then.”

________________________________

They work their way through two bottles of wine, eyes on one another, never on the time as it passes them by. 

Together, they talk about everything and nothing, the conversation always so natural between them, like a tide that ebbs and flows without hesitation. There’s laughter over things that no one else would see the humour in, and an understanding that runs deep enough to convince Sergio of the fact they speak in their very own language.

Generally, the topic of Raquel’s disaster date is avoided with intent on Sergio’s behalf; he’s keen not to remind her of the reason she had to call him up tonight in the first place. 

Still, the more alcohol consumed, the more his best friend’s inhibitions began to fade, and she took it upon herself to approach the very subject he didn’t want to get into - _his_ dating life.

Or lack, thereof. 

“Do you ever miss it?” she says with genuine curiosity in her eyes. “Y’know...just _being_ with someone?” 

The muffled sound of the television plays out like a soundtrack, filling the silence as Sergio musters up the courage to engage with the topic at hand. “I, uh…” there’s a pause, “I can’t really miss what I never had.” 

Raquel frowns at that, readjusting herself on the sofa to face him. “You’ve been with people,” she points out. 

“Not as often as I’ve been _without,”_ he adds, “and I’ve been without for a _very_ long time.”

“Without what?” Raquel jibes playfully, throwing him a suspicious glance. “A good woman? A good _fuck?”_

Sergio very nearly chokes on his wine, spluttering as the comment catches him well and truly off guard. “A...wi-without a good woman, of course,” he stutters out, suddenly very aware of the embarrassed flush in his cheeks. 

“With all due respect,” Raquel starts, drawing her words out in a teasing manner. She’s evidently enjoying this, he thinks. “Without a good woman, you can’t have a good..”

“Yes, I am aware,” Sergio interrupts immediately, unwilling to hear the end of that sentence. 

“Look at you,” she grins wildly, “all _embarrassed._ It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she adds. 

“What isn’t?” 

“Wanting to get laid.” 

Sergio chokes _yet again,_ deciding to just set his wine aside for the time being. He puts it on the floor, clearing his throat loudly and turning to her with feigned confidence. “I have no interest in getting…” he pauses, collecting himself, “...in _that,_ Raquel.” 

She smirks back at him, and Sergio can feel himself turning a deeper shade of crimson with each passing second. “Bullshit,” Raquel narrows her eyes, “are you telling me you’ve never thought about it?” 

He pushes his glasses awkwardly up his nose. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you, yes,” he lies. 

“And what if I don’t believe you?” Raquel pushes further.

Sergio shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Then that’s your prerogative,” he says, hoping to terminate this particular conversation. 

_He should be so lucky,_ he thinks as Raquel starts to eye him up suspiciously. “So you don’t think about heading out to a bar, y’know, picking up a _nice lady-friend?”_ she smirks.

Sergio rolls his eyes. “No.” 

“You don’t fantasise about sex?” 

“Raquel, _please-”_

“Have you ever watched porn?” 

“Absolutely not,” Sergio retorts, picking up his wine again and downing the remains of it in one swift mouthful. 

“You’re a _man_ ,” Raquel points out, waving her own glass of wine in the air, “you have needs.”

“What I need, _”_ replies Sergio, getting to his feet and making his way through to the kitchen, “is for this conversation to end.” 

“I’m just _saying,”_ she follows him into the kitchen, wine still in hand as she throws up her arms in mock surrender, “it couldn’t hurt you to have a little fun now and then.” She finishes off the contents of her glass, placing it into the sink once she’s done so. “You deserve to have fun.” 

Sergio softens a little at the sincerity that’s present in her tone, turning to face her as he rests his back against the kitchen counter. “I appreciate that,” he mumbles, nudging at his glasses again, “but I really am fine. Besides, your recent experiences with dating have put me off for life.” 

_“Jódete!”_ Raquel says as she shoves him in the arm, but Sergio can see the playfulness on her face, even when she exclaims, “too far!” 

“But, am I wrong?” he asks with a smile, always appreciative of her easy-going sense of humour. 

The question elicits a huff from Raquel, but she doesn’t directly respond, and that’s telling enough for Sergio that she knows he’s right. She folds her arms across her chest amidst a momentary pause, looking around the kitchen with a somewhat defeated expression. “Why are we so useless?” she asks, her tone flat. 

Sergio raises his brow. “Speak for yourself,” he says indignantly, readjusting his glasses before letting out a sigh of agreement. “I don’t know.” 

“ _Seriously,”_ Raquel continues, “I’m not asking for anybody’s hand in marriage, I just want _something_ , you know? Something exciting...some...some _passion_ or something _.”_ She’s unfolded her arms now, using one of them to hold her weight against the kitchen counter and using the other to help express herself. “I mean, I’ve just turned forty, I’m a single mother of _one,_ a-and no offence but…” 

Sergio eyes her up suspiciously. “But what?” 

“Well, you’re not exactly getting any younger.” 

“Right,” he mumbles, fiddling with the end of his tie. He’s not entirely sure what his age has to do with _any_ of this, but he’s conscious of the potential consequences if he were to interrupt her mid-rant. 

“What?” Raquel queries upon his somewhat lack of response, “don’t you find it all a little _depressing?_ I mean, I don’t know about you but…” she pauses, “I’m starting to think I’m losing my touch.” 

Sergio sighs. “You are _not_ losing anything, Raquel.” 

“No? Because it sure as hell feels like it,” she grumbles, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I just...I need something...something _more,”_ she stresses, “just without the...the shittydates and the awkward small talk.”

“Like a hook-up?” Sergio asks incredulously. Do people their age even _do that?_

“Well _exactly,”_ Raquel shrugs, clarifying his internal question. “I mean, my job is demanding, my mother is sick, a-and I want to focus on Paula, of course, I just...I need a little _fun.”_

“Well, I guess, uh, in that case,” Sergio says, pushing his glasses up his nose again with the pad of his thumb, “you should maybe join one of those, uh...dating sites or something,” he offers blindly, rather clueless to the whole scene. “They’re usually pretty good for stuff like that, right?” 

“Hmm,” Raquel doesn’t seem overly convinced, scrunching her nose up a little, “too much hassle. Besides, I’d probably have to go on a date just to make sure I wasn’t hooking up with some kind of...secret _psychopath.”_

“Right,” Sergio mutters, unsure whether to be amused or disturbed by the very prospect, “of course. Well...what about at work?” he adds, “don’t you have somebody there that you could...I don’t know...”

“Are you suggesting I fuck one of my colleagues, Sergio?” Raquel asks bluntly, and he feels momentarily flushed at how confidently vulgar she is. “I’m a little more professional than that,” she teases. 

He shrugs, mindlessly. “Breaking the rules is exciting, I guess.” 

“Yeah well not _those_ rules, Sergio,” Raquel explains, trying to suppress a chuckle at the irony of such a reserved man suggesting such a thing. “Fucking a colleague,” she laughs, shaking her head, “I thought you were a _by the book_ type, Marquina.” 

“Well then you’ve a _lot_ to figure out about me,” he remarks back, opening his mouth before he even bothers to engage his brain. He doesn’t know _why_ he says it, even though he knows what he means deep down - it’s simply _not_ by the books to silently pine over your best friend of six years , especially whilst simultaneously being her _go to_ for dating advice and encouragement. 

But Raquel is looking at him like he’s just led her to an epiphany, giving him the once over as though he’s some kind of challenge to be conquered. 

Sergio hasn’t ever felt under scrutiny like this before, and for the first time in the _entirety_ of their friendship, he has _no_ idea what the woman before him is thinking. 

_And then Raquel tells him._

“Let me figure it out then,” she says, her eyes intense beneath the shelter of a drunken haze. 

“I’m sorry?” Sergio frowns, readjusting his glasses _yet again._

Raquel shrugs as though she’s suggesting the most obvious thing in the world.

“Well…” she starts, taking a step towards him, “...why don’t _we_ hook up?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading :)
> 
> Let me know what you think, and stream 'illicit affairs' for sad feels, of course.
> 
> You can find me on Twitter at @sergiosraquel 💓


	2. what started in beautiful rooms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again everyone :) 
> 
> I just want to start by thanking you guys for the love that you gave the first chapter!! I honestly didn't think anybody would even notice the upload, let alone leave kudos and comments, so it really does mean a lot. 
> 
> This was updated a lot sooner than I thought...I basically found out that LCDP was ending after season five and then kept writing through the night to cure my crippling misery, lol. (I say 'lol' but I am so far from kidding, let's be honest here). 
> 
> Hope this chapter is okay for everyone<3

Sergio is temporarily stunned into silence, waiting for the moment that Raquel’s defences crack and she bursts into fits of laughter. _“I’m obviously kidding, you idiot,”_ she’d say, and then they’d start laughing _together,_ suppressing as much noise as possible in a bid not to wake Mariví and Paula. 

But, he waits. He waits for what feels like a _lifetime._ It’s just thatthe moment never comes, and he knows he’s going to have to say something. 

“Raquel, I really don’t think…”

“Why not?” she cuts him off immediately, shrugging her shoulders as though she’d just suggested a friendly game of chess. “It makes perfect sense!”

Sergio sighs, “it really _doesn’t.”_

“It really _does.”_

“Raquel—”

“Think about it!” she exclaims, taking another step towards him. “I’m single, _you’re single._ I’m out of luck, _you never really had it—”_

Pulling a face, Sergio shoves his hands into his trouser pockets, pacing to a different side of the kitchen. He doesn’t even have it in him to respond to that second remark, rather just turning to face her with a somewhat panicked expression. “Y-you’ve had a _lot_ to drink, Raquel, a-and I just think it’s best if we…” 

“If we what? Carry on as normal?” she scoffs, although there’s no aggression to her tone, “back to my dreadful dating life, a-and your _celibate_ one?” 

Sergio nudges his glasses up again with the pad of this thumb, frowning as he does so. “You’re getting a little offensive, don’t you think?” he chokes out amidst a disbelieving chuckle, _“a lot_ offensive, actually.” 

“Well, am I wrong?” she asks, and her attitude is electric as she does so, brow shooting up towards her hairline. 

Sergio simply allows his weight to shift from one foot to the other, swaying awkwardly on the spot. “No,” he mumbles. 

“Then what’s the problem?” 

“We’re friends, Raquel. _Best friends.”_

“Well, exactly,” she points out. “I don’t see why friends can’t help friends out? It saves me going on all of these _shitty_ dates, a-and it gives you the fun that _you_ need, too.” 

He raises a brow at her as she adds, “I _am_ a lot of fun, you know?”, slurring her words slightly as she speaks. “Or, so I’ve been told, anyway.” 

“I, uh...I really don’t wanna hear that,” Sergio grimaces, turning away from her and making his way back into the living area. He can’t help it, it’s impossible _not_ to feel the heaviness that claws at his chest when faced with the very prospect of someone else just... _having_ her in that way. Experiencing that with her. 

You’d think he’d have gotten used to it by now, what with all the dates he’d collected her from, all the discussions they’d had during which Raquel had overshared to the extreme. 

Somehow, it never seemed to get any easier, and this conversation was no exception.

“Why not _?”_ Raquel pushes curiously, following him in his tracks, “you don’t believe it? That I’m a lot of fun?” 

Sergio perches himself on the sofa, visually as uncomfortable as he feels on the inside, “it’s just…” he pauses, “I...I don’t really feel it’s my place, you know? To...to envisage you like that.” 

There’s a shift in Raquel’s expression as his awkwardness surfaces and she narrows her eyes at him, resting back on the end of the sofa arm. “So you’ve never pictured me naked, no?” she asks, a teasing edge to her tone. 

A prominent blush rises in Sergio’s cheeks, and suddenly he loses any ability to make eye-contact with her. _I try so hard not to,_ he thinks. “Don’t be so ridiculous,” is what he says, though. 

Raquel’s sigh is almost theatrical in response, clasping both hands over her knee as she crosses one leg over the other. “That’s a shame,” she says, absentmindedly. “I’ve most definitely pictured _you_ naked.” 

He’s grateful for the lack of wine this time, knowing fine well that in that moment he would’ve scored a hat trick in terms of choking on his drink. _Why does she keep saying things like this to him?_

“You’re my closest friend, and you’re a _guy,”_ she discloses, unintentionally answering his silent question. “Of course at _some point_ I’ve thought about... _going there.”_

Sergio’s mouth is slightly agape, completely taken aback by the words coming out of her mouth. Part of him wants to throw his arms in the air and celebrate; to raise a toast to the fact that Raquel wasn’t _entirely_ averse to the thought of him being more than a friend, even if it _was_ just in a ‘no strings attached’kind of way. 

“You, uh...you didn’t ever say anything,” he says, readjusting his glasses and mustering up the courage to look at her. 

“Well, I’ll be honest, the thought never stayed around long enough for me to voice it,” she confesses with an awkward laugh. 

“Of course,” Sergio mutters, hopeful that there is no disappointment to his tone. “No, of course,” he adds again, forcing out a chuckle for good measure. 

“I’m just saying…” Raquel continues, “I’d be comfortable, you know...trying out the whole _friends with benefits_ thing with you."

He opens his mouth to respond with something, but she doesn’t give Sergio the chance, rather just sighing and shifting from the arm of the sofa onto the actual sofa seat beside him. “God,” she mutters, “I’m never touching wine _again_.” She laughs a little pathetically, running her hand through her hair before placing it tentatively on Sergio’s arm. “Just...just forget I said anything,” she exhales. 

“Raquel, I—”

“No no no, you don’t have to explain yourself,” she rushes out, stumbling slightly over her words. “Honestly, I...I get it.” A small and understanding smile pulls at the corner of her lips. “You can’t just _force_ something like that.” 

Sergio‘s heart drops a little, eager to tell her that she couldn’t be morewrong. _Hell,_ he’s forced a few things in his lifetime, but sexual attraction to Raquel is _not_ one of them. “It...Raquel, it really isn’t that,” he says, pushing his glasses up with the pad of his thumb. “It’s just…”

“Sergio, really,” she starts, finally removing her hand from his arm and using it to wave in a dismissive manner, “it’s absolutely fine.” 

He swallows thickly, unwilling to let her think that he simply wasn’t attracted to her enough for them to try this out. “No, I...it’s just…I don’t want you to assume...”

“I’m not assuming anything,” Raquel discloses, a softness to her voice, “let’s just...let’s just forget I asked, okay?” 

He nods a little foolishly, clearing his throat and looking away from her. _“Sí,”_ he mumbles, _“vale.”_

 _“Bien,”_ Raquel mutters back, inhaling and exhaling shortly afterwards. She’s aware of the silence that envelops them as she stares at the wall ahead, with Sergio seemingly unwilling to look at her, too. 

It isn’t often, if _ever,_ that they find themselves in the midst of a quiet so uncomfortable, and because of its rarity, neither really know how to redeem the situation. 

Instead, Sergio finds himself adjusting his god-damn glasses for the _hundredth_ time, something they’re both aware he does when he feels even slightly awkward...so, all the time, essentially.

He clears his throat again, slapping his hands against his thighs a little too aggressively and using such as an introduction to his departure. “Well, it’s uh...it’s pretty late,” he offers, rising to his feet and capturing Raquel’s full attention, “I should probably go.” 

“Right...sure,” the brunette says, scrambling to her feet, too. “I’ll, uh...I’ll see you out,” she adds, cursing herself as soon as the words leave her mouth. The door is a mere four or five strides away - nobody needs to see anybody out. 

Still, she follows it through, walking closely behind Sergio as he makes his way towards the front door. 

He reaches for the handle, stopping just as his fingertips feel the cold of the metal. 

“Raquel,” he says. making the impromptu decision to turn on his heels and face her. She can feel the way his eyes search hers for an answer to the question on his lips. “We’re okay, aren’t we?”

The brunette tilts her head slightly, and Sergio is relieved to see her wearing a sympathetic expression. “It’s _us,”_ Raquel reassures him with a small smile, “we’re always okay.” 

Sergio nods, muttering an inaudible _“good”_ under his breath before opening the door and stepping out into the chill of the early hour. 

“Goodnight, Raquel,” he says over his shoulder. 

The sound of her telling him to get home safe is caught up in the breeze, followed shortly by the sound of the door shutting closed. 

________________________________

The next day, Sergio felt confused, nauseous and exhausted, blaming all of the above on the fact that he was positively _sleep-deprived_. 

He’d reached his apartment at around 2am after walking back from Raquel’s last night, and although he desperately wanted to crash out the minute that his head hit the pillow, it was quite the opposite that had occurred. 

Sure, he took it upon himself to blame anything and everything, like the fact he couldn’t sleep because the bitter cold of the outdoors woke him up. He couldn’t sleep because of the traffic on the road by his apartment block. He couldn’t sleep because of the wine. 

The excuses were endless, but the truth was simple. _He couldn’t sleep because of Raquel._

Raquel and her _ridiculous_ propositions that, in Sergio’s wildest dreams, made **so** much sense. Raquel and her off-the-mark assumptions that Sergio wouldn’t sleep with her because he wasn’t attracted to her, _not_ because he couldn’t risk breaking his own heart in such a way. 

He hadn’t heard from Raquel all day, something that wasn’t exactly unusual for a Saturday. Those were usually her social days anyway, spending precious time away from work with her mother and daughter, or perhaps some friends. 

Still, that didn’t alter the fact that he spent his _own_ day debating with himself whether to reach out to her or not, actively looking for reasons to strike up a conversation. 

In the end, his brother called, asking if Sergio wanted to meet for a drink later in the day. That gave him a distraction for the evening, at least, opting against a taxi and rather enjoying the walk into town for around 6pm. 

It only took Andrés an hour to approach the subject of Raquel, interrogating Sergio every time they met as to whether his little brother had _grown a pair_ yet and asked her out. 

Sure enough, this time was no exception. 

“No, I have not ‘ _wifed her up’_ yet,” Sergio says flatly, mirroring his brother’s choice of words with an irritated expression, “I’ve already told you, it’s not like that.” 

“So what _is_ it like _,_ then? Hm?” Andrés raises his brow as he swirls the ice around his glass, taking a quick swig shortly after. 

“Two people of the opposite sex _can_ just be friends, Andrés,” the younger man retorts, knocking back some of his own drink. “Not that you would know, of course.” 

“Ouch,” his brother says with a light smirk, holding his hands up in mock surrender, “no need to get so personal.” 

“Sorry,” Sergio mumbles under his breath, not quite willing to make eye contact. “I’m just saying...Raquel and I…” he pauses, trying to convince himself of his own lie, “we don’t see each other in...in _that_ way.” 

Andrés clicks his tongue, seeing right through his brother’s defences. “And you’ve had that discussion, have you?” 

There’s another momentary silence as Sergio runs his finger around the rim of his whiskey tumbler, his focus elsewhere. “Not exactly,” he discloses. 

“Not exactly?” Andrés pushes, growing increasingly irritated by his brother’s unwillingness to look him in the eye. He reaches out and clicks his fingers in Sergio’s face, capturing the younger man’s attention. _“Sergio,”_ he calls, firmly. “What do you mean _not exactly?”_

“Well, we’ve not _not_ talked about it—”

Andrés pulls a face. “And what the hell does that mean?” 

“It means...well, it’s not as though...” Sergio pauses awkwardly, readjusting his glasses with his finger and thumb, “last night...I mean, she just kind of—”

“Today would be nice, little brother,” Andrés deadpans, an impatient expression on his face as he takes a sip of his drink. 

Sergio instantly cuts to the chase, talking in one swift breath to avoid his own hesitation. “She asked to sleep with me,” he blurts out.

Andrés halts with a mouthful of whiskey, lowering the glass from his lips and swallowing slowly, processing the information he’d just received. Sure, Sergio is expecting a big reaction, especially since he’d worked himself up so much over simply _saying the words._ But, unpredictable as ever, his older brother just stares at him expectantly. “And?” he queries. 

Sergio shrugs, _“and?”_

“Well, did you?” 

“Did I what?” 

“Did you sleep with her?” Andrés asks impatiently, eliciting another awkward adjustment of specs on his younger sibling’s behalf. 

“Absolutely not,” Sergio insists, looking around the bar as though he were cautious that somebody may overhear. 

He finishes giving their surroundings a once over before looking back at his brother, awaiting some kind of sarcastic remark from the man before him. He and Andrés never see eye to eye when it comes to the sensitive subject of women; they couldn’t be more dissimilar, in fact. 

But, rather than causing a scene, his brother simply shakes his head in a sympathetic manner. “I don’t know what to say to you, _hermanito_ ,” he mutters, his expression deadly serious. He props his elbows onto the table, resting his chin against his clasped hands as he looks at Sergio intently. “I think there’s something wrong with you.”

Sergio frowns. “Sorry?”

“I mean _seriously_ ,” Andrés reiterates, “when a hot _piece_ like—” 

“Can you not objectify her like that?” interrupts Sergio irritably, before adding a polite, _“please.”_

The older man clears his throat. “When a _beautiful woman...”_ he starts over, holding one hand up as a gesture of apology, “like Murillo offers her advances on a plate, the very _last_ thing you do is turn her down.” 

“In _your_ world maybe,” Sergio scoffs, eliciting a sigh from Andrés.

“In _anyone’s world,_ little brother,” he states matter-of-factly, running the palm of his hand down one side of his face in sheer exasperation. “I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation.” 

“Well it’s not as easy as just…” the younger man hesitates, hoping that his brother will fill in the blanks in his head. 

Andrés raises his brow. “As just _what?_ Fucking her?” he smirks, observing the way Sergio swallows dryly, his eyes darting around the room again in a tense manner. “ _Jesus,_ Sergio...the Lord won’t _smite you down_ just for saying the words, you know?” 

“Yes, I’m aware,” Sergio mutters bitterly, nudging his glasses up his nose, “thank you.” 

“So what’s the problem, then?”

The younger sibling doesn’t answer that, rather kicking his chair back and getting to his feet, arms stretched out and palms flat on the table as he speaks. “I’m going to the men’s room.” 

________________________________

Sergio knows fine well that he’s spent far too long in the bathroom, staring at his reflection in the bevelled mirrors on the wall and hoping to witness a change of heart. 

He wished he was a little more like his brother, able to compartmentalise emotional attachments and see sex as, _well,_ as exactly that. Just sex. 

But it wasn’t like that for him; it never had been, and he was pretty sure it never would be. To be close to somebody…the closest two people could ever be? He couldn’t give himself like that to a stranger. Truth be told though, if he ever gave himself like that to Raquel, and more importantly, if she gave herself over to _him?_ Well, he’s not sure he’d have the strength to walk away. 

He turns on the tap and cups his hands beneath it, collecting the cold water and splashing it onto his face. If he wants to get through the remainder of the evening with his brother, he needs to compose himself - answer neutrally to any further questions, and dismiss any attempt on Andrés’ behalf to conversate about Raquel. 

Sergio didn’t want to have to think about his best friend anymore tonight. 

_He had 364 evenings in the rest of the year to do that_. 

Making his way out of the bathroom, he musters up a few excuses as to why he’s been in there for just under ten minutes. Of course, he knows that whatever he says, Andrés isn’t going to believe him, but _still._ Sergio had pride and dignity - he wasn’t just going to allow the narrative that he’d been staring at his reflection and pining over a woman like some lovesick idiot in a teen drama, even if that absolutely **was** the case. 

He walks in the direction of their table which is tucked into a corner by the window, the nightlife of Central Madrid playing out on the other side of such, and it’s only when he’s about to open his mouth that he notices the addition to their table. 

Surely not. 

_Surely fucking not._

Admitting to his feelings hadn’t ever been Sergio’s strong point, but he knew himself well enough to know that hallucinating the woman he was in love with was _not_ something he had ever experienced. That would be an incredible new low, even for him. 

“Ah, here he is,” Andrés shoots his brother a smug smile, gesturing his head towards Raquel. She’s sitting in what had been Sergio’s chair prior to his toilet trip, and he can tell by her eyes that she’s been drinking, too. “Look who decided to join us.” 

Sergio readjusts his glasses, more to ensure that he isn’t _seeing things_ than anything else. “Raquel?” he offers, confusion present in his voice, “what are you doing here?” 

The brunette frowns at him. “It’s nice to see you too, Sergio,” she responds playfully, but her expression becomes sincere soon after. “I was in town with Mónica,” she smiles, “but Daniel came to get her just now. Sometimes my friend picks up shifts here on a weekend, so I thought I’d come in to see if she was working.” 

Sergio nods in understanding. “And, is she?” he asks, looking around as though he has the faintest clue what this ‘friend’ looks like. _He doesn’t._

“Nope,” Raquel sighs, defeatedly. “But, then I saw your brother sitting here looking all lonely and... _well,_ here I am.” 

“I was, uh...I was using the bathroom,” Sergio explains, eliciting a scoff from Andrés. 

“For _ten minutes,”_ he comments, looking at Raquel in mock despair, “God only _knows_ what he was doing in there.” 

Raquel grins at that, quickly averting her attention to the younger brother and raising her eyebrows, teasingly. “What _were_ you doing in there, Sergio?” 

He blushes under her gaze, frustrated at himself for having such physical reaction to the remark. It’s not like he was doing anything wrong in there, after all. He was just...well, just thinking about _her_ , really. “Can I get anybody a drink?” he asks, deciding to swerve the subject altogether. 

Raquel narrows her eyes at him, an air of suspicion to her body language as she opens her mouth to say something else. Andrés, however, cuts in before she gets the chance, and Sergio feels momentarily grateful that his older brother is _finally_ providing him with some kind of relief. 

“No no,” he says with a shake of the hand, smoothing down the front of his jacket with the other, “no drink for me.” He looks between the two friends, rising to his feet as he does so. “I think I’ll get going, actually.” 

_And the relief is short lived,_ Sergio thinks, watching it play out before him as Raquel gets to her feet, too. 

“Oh, please don’t leave on my account,” she says politely, but Andrés is quick to brush her off. “It’s fine, truly,” he reassures, ignoring the way Sergio’s eyes are _boring_ into the side of his head. “Besides, I have an early start tomorrow.” 

“With what?” Sergio asks bluntly, hoping to put him on the spot, but Andrés simply turns to him with ease. 

“Places to go, _hermanito_ , people to see...” he grins arrogantly, both men knowing _fine well_ the reason that Andrés is actually leaving. He turns his back to Sergio, holding his arms out to wish Raquel goodbye. “A pleasure to see you,” he says with sincerity, kissing both of her cheeks in the traditional manner. 

_“Sí,”_ Raquel smiles back, embracing him and returning the gesture, _“igualmente.”_

He turns back around then, extending a hand out to his very reluctant sibling. “Sergio,” he offers, pulling him into a familial hug when the other man finally accepts the handshake. “Take the road less travelled by, little brother,” Andrés says directly into his ear, patting him somewhat forcefully on the back, “would it hurt you to loosen up a little?” 

When they part, he gives Raquel one final wave, intentionally passing Sergio as he leaves. “The road less travelled,” he whispers, subtle amidst the hum of the bar’s background music,“call me tomorrow.” 

And then, for the second night running, Sergio and Raquel are left alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping to be back again by Wednesday or Thursday, but please don't hold me to that, ha!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading :)
> 
> Let me know what you think, and stream 'illicit affairs' for sad feels, of course.
> 
> You can find me on Twitter at @sergiosraquel 💓


	3. born from just one single glance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooo :) another early update, I really need to stop sacrificing sleep for writing time, ha! 
> 
> Every single kudo and every single comment gives me **so** much encouragement, more than any of you lovely people realise, and it makes me so, so happy that you guys are enjoying the general direction of this story - it just makes me want to write even more!!
> 
> I really hope this is okay (I have no idea what I'm doing when it comes to this kind of writing loool...you'll soon know the kind of writing I'm talking about), but please enjoy and let me know your thoughts!!

For someone who had vowed the night before to _never_ touch wine again, Raquel did a pretty good job of working her way through a bottle with Sergio after Andrés had left. She disclosed to him that herself and Mónica had already shared a bottle of Prosecco prior to her arrival here, and it was on the third glass of red that Sergio had noticed his own defences starting to slip. 

Even so, they had been doing _very_ well at avoiding the elephant in the room.

Perhaps a little _too_ well, in fact. 

Sergio, being a man of his word, had gone to the bar to get the drinks in, and their conversation upon his return had been strictly platonic, talking about Monica and Daniel, Andrés and his romantic endeavours, even Mariví and the fact that Raquel was _sure_ she had a crush on their 36 year old mailman _._

The pair seemed content in discussing everyone else’s situation - just _never_ their own. 

Of course, Raquel had said the night before that the two of them should simply forget all about her proposition, and given how well the two of them had been getting on throughout the evening, Sergio very nearly _did_ forget. 

He’d spent years now accepting his position in Raquel’s life, and that was a position of support and friendship, regardless of whatever his feelings were. He wasn’t going to start hoping for otherwise now, especially not because of some meaningless, drunken suggestion. 

“We make a good team, don’t you think?” Raquel had mused as she linked his arm, a tentative gesture that Sergio hadn’t expected, _nor_ was he complaining about. 

_“Sí, sí,”_ Sergio had said sincerely, smiling at her like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to do _(and, let’s be honest, it was)._ “Although, I’m not sure that _me_ holding _you_ up after a drink really counts as team work.” 

Raquel scoffed at that, but he could still hear the contentment in her voice. “You are _not_ holding me up,” she’d argued, “you’re walking me back to your house.” 

“My apartment,” Sergio had corrected her, and Raquel simply rolled her eyes. 

_“Whatever.”_

The pair had agreed to go back to Sergio’s for a drink after the bartender announced that they were closing a little earlier than usual, something to do with a burst barrel in the cellar. With Sergio’s place being closer to town than Raquel’s, it didn’t really take much discussion as to where they’d go - his apartment was the obvious option, although in hindsight, he isn’t entirely sure why they didn’t just try a different bar. 

He tells himself that it’s because he was tired, or because Raquel had expressed on more than one occasion that she’d _“spent enough money on alcohol tonight.”_ He wouldn’t allow the possibility that it was anything _at all_ to do with the conversation he’d had with his brother. 

Besides, Raquel had squashed the possibility of anything happening, telling him last night that she simply never should’ve asked. The prospect of them hooking up was yesterday’s mistake, and Sergio was fairly certain of that. 

All until they got back to his apartment, that is.

At first, he put it down to the alcohol in his system; the lingering stares and moments of unnecessary closeness were a case of _alcohol in, inhibitions out,_ **not** a case of unspoken sexual tension. 

But, then he got up to lower the blind in the living area, making some throwaway comment that he always felt somewhat exposed with it open on an evening, and Raquel shot him this _look._

“Exposed _how?_ ” she’d asked, and Sergio had nudged his glasses up his nose, not entirely sure what she was getting at. 

“I don’t know,” he’d replied honestly, sitting back down on the sofa, “I just don’t like the idea that people can look in, you know? That they can see what I’m doing.” 

“You’re on the seventh floor of an apartment block, Sergio,” Raquel stated, matter-of-factly, “who the hell is going to look in here?” 

He’d fallen silent at that, acknowledging the truth in what she was saying. “I might be...coming out of the shower,” he said, using his hands to express himself, “o-or, you know...working out. I do that sometimes on an evening.” 

“Right,” she’d said, nodding bemusedly, and the look on her face only made him feel like he had to justify himself further. 

“What if…” he paused momentarily, thinking out his explanation, “okay, what if I’m walking around with no shirt on?” he’d asked, raising his eyebrows, “nobody wants to see that.” 

Raquel had grinned, shaking her head at his modesty. “You never know,” she’d replied, catching his gaze with a changing expression, “some people might.” 

It had been a simple remark, a moment of flattery on her behalf, _but that was all it took._

He was drunk, she was drunk, and the alternating looks from eyes to lipsto _eyes_ turned into moving closer, and then they were kissing, Sergio’s body disobeying his rational mind completely. 

Raquel wasted no time at all, her hands moving straight to the buttons of his shirt, and the desperation in her actions had been enough to send a rush straight to his groin. He just kept moving his mouth against her own, repressing the voice of reason in his head telling him that he simply _could not_ afford to do this to himself. 

Even now, moments later, there’s a part of him that knows he should push her off. He could let her down gently with the _“we’re both drunk and you don’t really want this”_ excuse and call it a night, hoping they could both forget about it and move forward. 

But, she’s all over him. Raquel, _his Raquel_ , is all over him, pushing his unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders and setting his skin alight with her delicate, yet dominant touch. 

_Take the road less travelled by,_ Andres had said. 

He’s already too far gone, now. 

“Are we, uh…” Sergio says against her lips, pulling away to let her catch her breath, “don’t you think we should set some...some ground rules, or something?” 

Raquel pulls a face. “Ground rules?” 

“Well, _you know…”_ he starts, taking a stray strand of her hair between his finger and thumb and brushing it tentatively behind her ear, “just so we don’t cross any lines.” 

“I think we’re already crossing a pretty big line here, don’t you?” Raquel says, her intonation playful and telling as her eyes search his own. 

“Right,” Sergio mumbles, “of course.” She kisses him again, evidently keen to pick up where they just left off, but he pulls away for the second time, his overactive mind running away with itself. “So can I... _do we talk?_ O-or is this more of a…” he readjusts his glasses nervously, “...like, a _get it done_ kind of thing.” 

Raquel sighs, tilting her head slightly to the side. “Is that how you see sex, Sergio? As something to just _get done?”_ she asks, her tone disbelieving, but kind.

“With respect,” he offers formally, “I don’t participate in it enough to see it as anything _at all._ ” 

She’s helpless to do anything but laugh against his mouth, always so amused by his unapologetic honesty. “It’s supposed to be _fun_ ,” Raquel says with a sympathetic smile, “I want you to have fun. Just...just nothing personal, okay?” 

He nods stiffly, swallowing back a remark about the irony of _not_ getting personal with someone that you’re eagerly undressing, but his better judgement kicks in for the first time that evening. 

“Just relax,” Raquel whispers into his neck, obviously sensing his hesitation. She punctuates each word with a kiss along his jawline, “don’t overthink it, just...just do whatever feels right.” 

Sergio would’ve laughed at that had he not been so completely overwhelmed by the way her mouth felt against his skin, wondering how the _fuck_ he was meant to relax with Raquel straddling him and mouthing at his neck like he was something to be _devoured_. 

Still, he whispers a simple “okay,” tilting back his head to grant her more access, inhaling sharply whenever she does so much as _breathe_ over a particularly sensitive spot. 

Sergio knows that he needs to do something, _anything -_ the last thing he wants is for Raquel to think that he’s all take and no give, he just doesn’t want to cross any unmarked boundaries. 

His hands are sitting gently on her hips, and so he starts to move them up her back, fingertips pressing lightly on every inch of skin beneath the soft material of her dress. 

Raquel shifts her attention from Sergio’s neck to his mouth, kissing him in response as she scrunches up the bottom of her dress in her hands, pulling the one piece over her head in one swift movement. 

He knows he has the power to take things a step further, using his index finger to dance beneath the clasp of her bra, but he doesn’t quite have the confidence to do anything else about it. Yes, this whole thing had been her idea, and _yes,_ she was on top of him right now, but Sergio being, well, _Sergio_ \- he didn’t ever want to cross any invisible lines. 

“You _can_ do that, you know,” Raquel mumbles against his lips, obviously sensing his hesitation. 

Sergio pleads ignorant, searching her eyes with his own. “Do what?” 

She starts to shake her head in return, a smile breaking out on her face as she catches on to his feigned innocence. _Sometimes he forgets how well Raquel knows him._ “Just take off my bra,” she says, and he’s helpless to do anything but smile back. 

His struggle with the clasp only lasts a couple of seconds, and Raquel is quick to help him with the rest, pulling down the straps and tossing the bra to one side, careless as to where it ends up. 

Even then, Sergio is keen to maintain eye contact with her, constantly looking for approval that this was okay, that _they_ were okay, even though this was Raquel’s idea to start with. 

She quiets his fears without saying a thing, taking his hands in her own and directing them to her chest, giving him a wanting nod of encouragement. 

At that, he starts to massage slowly, noticing the way Raquel’s eyes flutter closed at the feeling. Granted, Sergio is no expert in this field, but one thing he _can_ credit himself for is his observant nature. 

When the pad of his thumb brushes involuntarily over one of Raquel’s nipples, a guttural noise sounds from the back of her throat, and he knowsinstantly that she likes that. 

So, he does it again, and again, and _again_ , until Raquel is grinding her hips against him in a way that speaks volumes without saying a word - she wants more. 

He starts to leave a trail of kisses across her jaw line, intoxicated by the smell of her perfume as he works his way down her neck and across her collarbone with his mouth. The position is a little awkward, but Sergio is conscious of startling her with any sudden changes, constantly worrying that whatever he may do may _not_ be what Raquel wants. 

“Can you...can you lean back a little for me?” he whispers against her skin, “please?” 

She does as he asks, supported by his arms and granting him better access as she tilts back, giving him the space to move further down her body. 

He closes his mouth around one of her nipples, licking experimentally across the hardened edge and relishing in the way Raquel whimpers in response. 

She pushes her hands through his hair as he keeps his focus, running the flats of her palms across his back and trying to pull him even closer. He continues to work with every noise that she makes, taking note of what elicits a reaction from her and, truth be told, he’s enjoying _every last second_ of it, even if his moral compass knows that it’s wrong. 

He notices Raquel’s breathing getting harsher and harsher, deciding to move away from her breasts and kissing back up her neck again. “Did that feel good?” he asks sincerely, biting gently at the lobe of her ear. 

She sits up a little straighter, running her hands down his bare chest and looking at him with an intensity that he didn’t even know _existed._ “You’re still wearing too many clothes,” is her answer, and he nods eagerly. 

“Okay,” he says, watching her intently as she shifts off of his lap, giving him the space to move. “I can...I can fix that,” he grins, unbuttoning the top of his jeans and shoving them down to his ankles.

Raquel steps out of her underwear with ease as Sergio struggles to get out of his jeans, stumbling a little as he tries to kick them off, and their shared laughter puts him at even further ease. 

It was still his best friend standing before him. They were always going to be _them,_ no matter what. 

He straightens up a little awkwardly in nothing but his boxer shorts, nudging his glasses up his nose and clearing his throat. Raquel looks effortlessly flawless, standing there entirely ready forhim. For _Sergio._

And, even after years of helplessly dreaming of her like this, he still couldn’t quite comprehend that it was happening to him now. He wants to say something, to tell her that she’s _incredibly_ beautiful, to tell her that he’d never loved anybody the way he loves her, and probably never would again. 

But, they’d touched upon this, and he couldn’t go there. Conversations were too personal, compliments were too personal, and she’d specifically said _nothing personal._

So instead, he just moves in to kiss her, touching her hair, her shoulders, her chest, her hips, anything that his hands can get to. She walks him backwards with a little force, his legs hitting the edge of the sofa so that he falls gently backwards, seated again like he was before. 

Rather than clambering on top of him, Raquel gets to her knees, looking up at him through her thick lashes and running both hands along the inside of his thighs. “Are we, uh...are we doing this with _these_ on?” she asks in mock innocence, slipping two fingers inside the waistband of his boxers. 

Sergio swallows back a moan, somehow conscious of her feeling how painfully hard he is. “No,” he mumbles, his breathing laboured.

Raquel smirks at that, starting to pull them down slowly, _slowly,_ mouthing at every new bit of skin revealed. “That’s what I thought,” she murmurs, pushing the underwear down his legs and discarding such on the floor, “that’s _exactly_ what I thought.” 

He watches her as she inches closer and closer to him, doing his level best not to come _there and then_ from the sheer intimacy of the situation. Her hands continue to map out his inner thighs, leaning in with confidence and letting her tongue run along the slit of his erection, humming gently as she does so. 

_“Raquel,”_ Sergio grits out, his hands clutching at the material of the sofa in a bid to ground himself, _“fuck.”_

She doesn’t take him all the way in, rather enjoying the element of control she has as he tries to maintain his composure, involuntarily spreading his legs further apart to grant her better access. One of his hands winds up in her hair as she runs the flat of her tongue along the underside of his length, his mouth falling open as he groans profoundly. 

“I told you this would be fun,” Raquel says, her voice barely surpassing a whisper as she moves her way back up his body, straddling her legs back over his. She presses their foreheads together and pulls off his glasses in one swift movement, giving Sergio little to no time to adjust.

She wraps her hand around him, circling the very tip against her entrance and smirking ever-so-slightly when another groan escapes his lips. “You’re so...mmmf,” he stutters, squeezing his eyes shut at the slight pressure he feels at the head, “you’re so _wet.”_

“Mmhm,” Raquel hums in agreement, locking their gaze the very second that he opens his eyes again. “That’s kind of how it works,” she teases, finally sinking onto him at a torturous pace and relishing in the _obscene_ face that Sergio makes. 

They stay like that for a moment, their foreheads still touching as Raquel adjusts to the feeling of him inside her. It takes every bit of strength that Sergio has to stop himself thrusting his hips upwards, fucking into her as though his life depended on it. 

It takes _equal bouts_ of strength just to stop the question _“are you okay?”_ falling from his lips, fearful that such a string of words would be too conversational. Too personal. Too _much_ for their agreed situation. 

And so, Sergio remains completely still and _completely_ silent, only allowing the harshness of his breathing to become prominent again when Raquel starts to move her hips. He watches as her own mouth parts against his, whimpers lost amidst warm breath as she quickens the pace, lifting off him and then sinking back down at a steady rhythm. 

Sergio wraps one arm completely around her, using the other to push down against the sofa and give himself some leverage to thrust his hips upwards to meet her. 

The noise Raquel makes when he does so is enough to drive him to the point of insanity, gaining confidence from her reaction and repeating the movement over and over. 

“I thought you... _mm’fuck.._.I thought you had no...no experience,” Raquel chokes out with somewhat difficulty, tempted to laugh at the way Sergio looks at her earnestly. 

“I don’t,” he breathes out, and then starts to move even faster, chasing his own high. 

Raquel pushes both of her hands through his hair, tugging his head back to mouth at the skin there, meeting him halfway with every thrust. 

“Raquel, I’m...” Sergio grunts, _“god,_ I’m close.” 

She seemingly can’t find the words to respond, nodding at him in some kind of silent agreement and burying her face into his neck as she feels her own release building. 

Sergio moves his hand from her back up to her hair, tangling his fingers amidst the curls and tugging gently to get her attention. “No no no,” he whispers softly, _“mírame.”_

Raquel does as he asks, her brown irises reflecting within his own as they lock eyes, and that’s enough to tip Sergio over the edge. 

He comes inside her, relishing in the way her walls tighten around him as she follows shortly after. His name falls from her lips repeatedly like a forbidden mantra, notably the _sexiest_ thing Sergio has ever witnessed in his life, and he knows in that very moment that there is no going back now. 

He is well and truly _fucked._

“Wow,” Raquel laughs into his skin, pulling off him and grimacing slightly at the sensation. 

Sergio clears his throat apprehensively, trying not to come acrosstoo dazed from his orgasm. “Is that ‘wow’ as in _wow,_ or…” he pauses, feeling around for his glasses and putting them back on, “‘wow’ as in _what the fuck have I just done?”_

Raquel smiles at that, raising her brow at him as she picks her underwear up off the floor. “Both,” she muses. 

“Very reassuring,” Sergio replies, only _half_ joking. 

They both get dressed again, collecting their discarded items of clothing off the floor. The silence around them is comfortable and not at all heavy, but Sergio still feels an unsettling need to say something, _anything,_ to fill the void. 

“Would you like me to call you a taxi?” he asks, regretting it the very second the words leave his mouth. What sort of stupid and dismissive question was _that?_

Raquel narrows her eyes at him, caught in the middle of shoving her hair up into a ponytail. _“Wow,_ Sergio,” she remarks, “you get what you want from a woman and then you throw her out?” 

“Wh- _no,”_ Sergio implores, cursing himself internally, “n-no it’s not that, not at _all,_ I just thought that—”

“That it’s late and I should be heading back?” Raquel interjects, finishing his sentence. “You’re absolutely right,” she says, a smirk breaking out onto her face, “a taxi would be perfect, thank you.” 

Sergio lets out a breath that he didn't know he was holding, shaking his head at her. Whilst he's relieved that her playful nature is still in tact despite their new-found closeness, it doesn't change the fact that she had him panicking for a second, there. "You're the worst," he jibes, his lips turning upwards into a smile. 

Raquel raises her eyebrows. "Says the one fobbing me off onto a taxi driver?" she scoffs, her expression teasing. "Is this how you treat all of the women in your life?" 

"Indeed," Sergio shrugs, playing her at her own game and shoving his hands casually into his pockets. "Why'd you think there's only you _left?_ " 

_"!Gilipollas!"_ Raquel retorts, shoving him in the arm and shooting him a fond smile as she does so. "Just call me that taxi, would you?" 

He smiles back at her, pulling his phone out of the pocket of his jeans. “On it," he offers, bringing their momentary playfulness to a halt.

As Raquel thanks him, he lifts his hand politely, communicating that it’s no trouble at all as he heads through into the kitchen to dial the number. 

Of course, once he hangs up, he tells her that the cab is on it's way. 

He even tells her that he'll pay for it. 

What he doesn't tell her, though, is that with every passing moment, it's getting harder to ignore the tug on his heart that tells him 

_you really want her to stay._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got quite a busy few days ahead, but I'll hopefully have an update for you all by Sunday/Monday!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading :)
> 
> Let me know what you think, and stream 'illicit affairs' for sad feels, of course.
> 
> You can find me on Twitter at @sergiosraquel 💓


	4. you taught me a secret language

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, lovely people!! 
> 
> Once again, the love I’ve received on the last chapter has filled a little void in my heart. I can’t believe I’ve been missing out on such a wonderful and kind group of people for so long♥️ 
> 
> I wanted to explore Sergio’s relationship with Paula, so this chapter kind of focuses on that - I really hope you all enjoy. Your comments, as always, are beyond appreciated! 
> 
> Have a wonderful weekend guys xx

Sergio couldn’t deny it, no matter how hard he tried - when he woke up this morning, he had an unusual spring in his step. 

He couldn’t possibly put it down to having slept well - he’d spent far more hours awake last night than he had done asleep. He’d be equally foolish to say that today was simply a _good day -_ it was a Sunday, which meant one thing and one thing only - the imminent doom of _pre-working week_ misery. 

All things considered, the reason for today’s positive energy was pretty self-explanatory.

_Well,_ it was to Andrés, anyway. 

“What you’re experiencing is the total _euphoria_ of the morning after,” he’d said to Sergio on the phone earlier in the day, “it’s a universal phenomenon.” 

The younger man had rolled his eyes at that, phone lodged between his ear and his shoulder as he tried to butter his toast in the meantime. “Now you’re just making things up,” Sergio had muttered. “Besides, you’re being _very_ presumptuous. Not once did I say that we’d slept together.” 

“You don’t have to say _anything,_ little brother,” Andrés chimed in return, “I can just tell.” 

Sergio had let out a sharp and abrupt laugh at that, his tone mocking as he replied, “what, from the sound of my _voice?”_

He’d expected his sibling to laugh in unison with him, but instead Sergio could practically _see_ the way Andrés shrugged as he said, “precisely.” 

Honestly, if Sergio had had it his way, they never would’ve had this conversation in the first place, but his older brother had been intent on speaking to Sergio, calling and calling from 8AM onwards until he had no choice but to pick up.

It was whilst he was talking to Andrés that Sergio realised he was out of milk, preparing his routinely morning coffee mid-conversation and opening the fridge to find an empty space. 

Of course, no milk meant that a trip to his local corner-shop was officially on the cards, and with _that_ realisation came another - he’d lost his wallet. 

_“Shit,”_ Sergio had cursed down the phone, “did I leave it at the bar?” 

“Don’t ask me,” Andrés laughed in response, “I wasn’t the one you left with. You’ll have to ask your _lady-friend.”_

Sergio groaned, adjusting his glasses as he took another bite of his toast. “I don’t particularly _want_ to call her...not yet, anyway. Looks a little…” 

“Desperate?” Andrés had interrupted, clearly enjoying the misfortune of his sibling. “Look, give the bar a call, see if anything has been handed in there, and if not, then…” 

“Then I’m going to have to call Raquel, _yes,_ I know,” Sergio finished the sentence, sounding entirely deflated. 

His older brother had feigned confusion, asking what the big deal was in calling her so soon if they “hadn’t even slept together.” There was a teasing edge to his tone, knowing _fine well_ how to wind the younger man up. 

Lo and behold, Sergio just hung up after that. 

He’d called the bar as they’d discussed, but just as he’d expected with his luck, the staff there didn’t know anything at all about any wallet.

And so, here Sergio was, sitting on the _very_ sofa that he’d had sex on the night before, psyching himself up to ring the _very_ woman that he’d had sex _with._

He scrolls through his phone, looking for Raquel’s name in his contacts and reluctantly pressing the green ‘call’ button. Listening to the dial tone, he pulls his glasses abruptly off his face, wiping his eyes with the back of his free hand in distress. _God help him_ if this is the effect that last night had on him making a basic fucking _phone call._

It rings four or five times before Raquel eventually picks up, her often cheery voice sounding somewhat _bleak_ at the other end of the line. 

“Sergio,” she says, cutting him off before he even gets the chance to exchange any real pleasantries, _“¿Qué pasa?”_

“Raquel, hi,” he hesitates momentarily, keen not to trip over his words, “I’m just calling because I...well, it sounds a little strange really, but...i-it’s not that I’m accusing you of stealing it or anything, _obviously,_ I just…you were the person I left with, and-”

“Is this about your wallet?” she interrupts, seemingly uninterested in his long-winded way of wording things. 

“Wh—yes,” he stammers, frowning at the other end of the phone, “yes it is. How did...how did you know?” 

“You gave it to me last night as a joke, remember?” she recalls, her tone a little impatient. “I said that I’d spent enough money on alcohol for one night, so you gave me your wallet and said _‘spend my money instead, then._ ’” 

Sergio’s memory is revived as she speaks, the interaction playing out in his head in a vivid flashback. 

“You insisted I put it in my purse for the next bar, but then... _well,_ there _was no_ next bar,” she laughs, but it seems relatively forced. 

The end of the line goes silent for a second, and Sergio can’t tell if she sounds somewhat disappointed in herself, making him feel even more anxious than he already was. “I must’ve forgotten to give you it back,” she says, “what with... _you know.”_

_“Claro,”_ Sergio remarks, forcing a chuckle of his own. “Right, okay...that’s, uh...that’s good.” 

Raquel clears her throat. “It is.” 

“Well...could I, uh, possibly come and collect it?” 

“Wha— _now?”_

He senses the hesitation in her voice, all of his fears about being too much, _too inconvenient_ for calling, coming true. Still, he persists, not so much for want of getting the wallet back and more to reach further conclusions as to whether she really was trying to avoid him. 

“I mean, only if it’s no trouble? I, uh...I really need some milk,” he says. 

“Morning coffee?” Raquel says, and he’s relieved to hear her tone soften. 

“An essential,” Sergio replies, smiling shyly at how well she knows him. 

“Of course. Well, you can come now, it’s just... _no, yes, it’s fine,_ come now.” 

Sergio hesitates, very much aware of the lacking enthusiasm in her voice. “A-are you sure? I don’t want to—”

“It’s fine, Sergio, honestly,” Raquel interrupts, quickly, “just come now.” 

He opens his mouth to offer a thank you, perhaps even a _goodbye,_ but the line goes dead before he gets the chance to do so. 

________________________________

The journey to Raquel’s place is nothing short of _torture,_ what with Sergio’s mind going into total overdrive and picking apart every single second of their prior phone call. 

_‘¿Que Pasa?’_ Raquel had asked, hurrying him along as though she didn’t have the patience to be speaking to him. 

_‘Is this about your wallet?’_ she’d interrupted, evidently keen to cut to the chase and avoid casual chit chat with him. 

_‘No, yes, it’s fine, come now’_ had been her hesitant agreement to him asking if he could call by her house. 

From those three points of analysis alone, Sergio had pretty much concluded that his best friend was facing colossal regret over what had happened between them, and he hates that a part of him knew it would come to this. 

On one hand, this was her idea - Sergio couldn’t possibly take the blame for encouraging something that Raquel had been such a willing participant in, could he? 

But, of course, on the other hand, he’d known from the minute Raquel suggested it that it was a bad idea - he’d even turned her down _because_ he knew such. 

Still, it had taken him just short of 24 hours to change his mind. 

Just short of 24 hours. That’s _less than a bloody day_ to ruin their friendship. 

And yet, Raquel had seemed fine when she left his apartment last night. _More than fine._ She appeared comfortable and content, teasing him as usual, smiling over her shoulder as she headed out for her taxi. 

Then again, that could’ve just been the alcohol still present in her bloodstream. Perhaps sobriety had given her a good talking to this morning, chastising her for being so foolish as to _go there_ with her best friend of six years. 

Sergio pulls up outside of her house, impromptu rehearsals taking place in his head as he makes mental notes of what to say. God, he hasn’t _ever_ been this nervous about striking up a conversation with Raquel in all the time that he’s known her, and what’s more, he’s only here to pick up a damn _wallet._

Knocking on the door in his usual, rhythmic manner, Sergio takes a step back and waits for someone to answer, rubbing his palms onto the material of his sweatpants. 

“Just give me a minute, Paula, okay?” he hears a familiar voice sound in the hallway, the door opening shortly after. “Sergio... _hi,”_ Raquel says, stepping aside and swinging the door back with her as she gestures for him to come in, heading straight through to the living area. 

He notes that her outfit is somewhat formal, a cream v-neck blouse tucked into grey, high-waisted suit pants. In fact, come to think of it, the fact that she’s dressed in anything other than her pyjamas at ten in the morning on a Sunday is a little strange to him, and he thinks it’s a little strange for _her,_ too. 

“Your wallet’s just there,” she discloses, pulling him out of his train of thought. 

His eyeline follows the direction in which she’s pointing, spotting the object in question on the mantelpiece by the clock. 

“Oh,” he murmurs, a little uneasy at the way she strides past him and into the kitchen, barely even hanging back for him to express any gratitude. Regardless, he finds himself saying thank you. 

_“De nada,”_ Raquel voices from the kitchen before reappearing as quickly as she’d left, poking her head through the living room door and into the hallway. “Paula,” she shouts up the stairs, “your breakfast is ready!” 

Sergio offers her a polite smile as she turns back to face him. 

“Busy day ahead?” he asks. The _‘are we okay?’_ is silent. 

Raquel forces a laugh, running a hand through her hair. “You have no idea.” 

He’s about to ask her to elaborate, hoping that perhaps her schedule today is the reason behind her stand-offish nature, but Paula appears before he gets the chance to do so. 

She smiles at Sergio, tightening the middle tie of her dressing gown as she does so. “Buenos Días.” 

Raquel sighs, throwing her arms out to the side in despair. “You’re not even dressed, yet!” she states, cutting Sergio off before he has the opportunity to return Paula’s greeting. 

“I’m not going to Ángel’s house, mama,” she huffs, folding her arms across her chest. 

“Yes, you are.” 

“I’m not.” 

_“Paula.”_

She juts out her bottom lip, sighing defeatedly. “But, I don’t want to.” 

Raquel’s face softens at that, crouching before her daughter and touching her face tentatively. “I know, cariño, _I know,”_ she says, her head gesturing in the direction of the kitchen. “Just...just go and get your breakfast, okay? _Please,_ for me? We’ll talk after.”

Paula nods solemnly, barely picking her feet up off the ground as she trudges through into the kitchen, her mother shutting the door quietly behind her. 

Sergio can sense some kind of atmosphere, although he’s not entirely sure which approach will better suit - to walk away and leave them in peace, or to pose the question as to whether or not he can help in any way. After little consideration, he opts for the latter. 

“Is, uh...is everything okay?” he asks gently, looking between the closed kitchen door and Raquel’s downbeat expression.

“Would you believe me if I said yes?” she replies, forcing out a laugh. 

Sergio shrugs. “Should I?” he asks, and Raquel offers him a sad smile, shaking her head simultaneously. 

She looks back at the door between the living area and the kitchen, ensuring that it’s definitely shut before she discloses the situation to Sergio. “Paula was meant to be with her father, today,” Raquel starts, her tone hushed, “but, of course, he’s cancelled last minute.” 

“As per usual,” Sergio mutters, infuriated at the mere mentionof Alberto, Raquel’s estranged ex-husband. 

_“Sí,”_ she nods in agreement, perching on the edge of the sofa arm, “and now my boss has called me in for some, I don’t know…” she waves her hands in the air as she speaks, “...mandatorytrainingthing.” 

Sergio pulls a face. “On a Sunday?” 

“Well, exactly,” Raquel huffs, rolling her eyes at the ever-present demand of her job. “Word of advice...don’t _ever_ join the Police Force.” 

“I, uh...I wasn’t planning on it,” Sergio remarks, his heart swelling a little at the fact he elicits a genuine smile out of her. “But, thanks for the heads up,” he adds. 

“Anytime,” Raquel jokes back, but her face falls serious again within seconds. “The problem is, I’ve no idea what time I’ll be back, and... _well,_ there’s nobody to take care of Paula, now.” 

“Can’t she just stay with your mother?” Sergio frowns. 

“Laura’s taken her out for the day,” Raquel explains with a shrug, “and then she’s staying at her house.” 

“Ah,” Sergio nods with understanding, “I see.” 

Raquel rolls her eyes, pushing a few loose strands of hair behind her ear. “You know, the _one_ occasion on which my sister decides to make an effort,” she says, laughing at the irony of it all, “it just _had_ to be today.” 

Sergio sits in silent contemplation, nudging his glasses back up his nose as he continues to listen. 

“I spoke to Ángel and—” 

“From number three?” Sergio asks, clarifying whether it was, in fact, her neighbour that she was talking about. 

Raquel nods, resting her chin against her hands as she slouches over on the arm of the sofa. “He said that Paula could go to their house for the day, but... _well,_ you saw what she was like.” 

Sergio resists the temptation to say that he didn’t _blame_ her, rather just muttering _‘I did, yes’_ in acknowledgement of Paula’s reluctance earlier. Now was **not** the time to be airing his grievances with Raquel’s overbearing (and _married,_ may he add with relief) neighbour. 

“She could, uh...she could always stay with me,” Sergio says, eyes never leaving his friend as he awaits her reaction, “o-or I could stay with _her,_ you know, if she would feel more comfortable here.” 

Raquel beams from ear to ear, shaking her head a little coyly. “That’s very sweet of you,” she says, dismissing his advances, “but I wouldn’t expect you to do that.” 

“I really wouldn’t mind,” Sergio explains, scratching at the corner of his eye. “That’s if Paula wanted to, of course.” 

“I think she’d take _anything_ over Ángel’s house,” Raquel muses, zoning out a little and staring at the wall. She snaps out of it quickly, looking at Sergio with sincerity in her eyes. “You’d really stay here today and look after her?” 

“Do _you_ have milk in the fridge for a coffee?” he asks, eyebrows raised. 

Raquel rolls her eyes, theatrically. “Of course,” she says, and Sergio grins at her.

“Then I’m more than happy to stay.” 

Laughing to herself in response, Raquel shakes her head at his teasing. “Got it,” she mutters, amused. 

She walks over to the kitchen, touching Sergio gently on the shoulder as she passes and opens the door. “Paula…” she starts, smiling over her shoulder before continuing, “Your Uncle Sergio has _very kindly_ offered to stay here with you today so you don’t have to go elsewhere. Would you like that?” 

The young girl turns her head quickly, eyes widened and face beaming. “Really?” 

Raquel looks over at Sergio, obviously unwilling to confirm anything with her daughter unless he has whole-heartedly agreed to it. 

“Really,” he clarifies, both to Paula _and_ to Raquel, nudging his glasses up his nose with the pad of his thumb, “only if you’re okay with that, of course.” 

Paula nods with unapologetic enthusiasm, abandoning her breakfast on the table and running towards Sergio with her arms wide open, hugging him tightly around the waist. “You’re my favourite of _all_ mama’s friends,” she discloses, contentedly. 

He puts one arm around her, resting his free hand in her hair and ruffling it gently. “Brownie points,” he grins at Raquel, his voice barely surpassing a whisper, “that’s all I’m doing it for.” 

“Well, it’s working,” Raquel jokes back, raising her eyebrows at the way her daughter continues to latch onto Sergio. “Go finish your breakfast cariño, okay?” 

Paula pulls away obediently, flashing another toothy grin in Sergio’s direction before disappearing back into the kitchen. Raquel lets out a sigh of relief, the weight of arranging child-care _finally_ off her shoulders. “I owe you one,” she says,

Sergio offers her a genuine smile, telling her that it’s no trouble at all. 

_And it isn’t_ , he thinks. _It feels good to make her happy._

________________________________

Sergio and Paula had always got along well, or at least Sergio thought as much, anyway. Sure, she wasn’t the most talkative kid in the world at times, and Sergio occasionally felt as though he had to really _squeeze_ the conversation out of her, but she was only a child, after all. 

Generally speaking, she was a good kid, and he felt that the more time she spent with him, the more comfortable she became around him. 

He had accompanied Raquel to little milestone events for Paula in the past - her school’s nativity play, the award ceremony for her extracurricular projects, even some of her birthday parties that Raquel had insisted on inviting him to. 

Of course, Sergio spent most of his time with Raquel one-on-one, but within the first year of their friendship, he became a familiar face around the house, and Paula warmed to him a lot, eventually starting to refer to him as _Uncle Sergio._

Today, for the most part, she’d been doing her own thing, watching TV or playing in her room. Sergio did his level best not to disturb her, just checking in now and again to see if she wanted anything to eat or drink. At one point, she even had a nap, announcing that _‘mama usually says I can’t have those or else I won’t sleep at night.’_

Sergio shrugged at that, smiling at how very _Raquel_ the rule was. “I won’t tell her if you won’t,” he’d said, and Paula made him clarify such with a pinky promise before marching up the stairs.

She reappeared at around 3PM, complaining that she had homework to do and asking where her mother was. 

“I got a message from her that said she’d be home around six…is that okay?” Sergio said softly, sitting up straight on the sofa from where he’d been laid playing Sudoku. 

Paula nodded, solemnly. “Can _you_ help me with my homework, then?” 

And so, Sergio did, sitting by her side on the dining room table and helping her out as best he could with the mathematics, never directly giving her the answers and being patient with her as she figured things out alongside his guidance. 

She opted to play on her tablet once they’d finished, telling Sergio about some new cooking game that she’d downloaded. He crouched beside the corner chair that she was sitting on, letting her talk him through the different elements of what you could do. 

“You’re gonna lose that customer,” Sergio laughed, pointing at the tablet as Paula tapped the burger on the screen to flip it over. 

“I’m not!” she squealed, dragging the fries across the screen and dropping them into the pan. 

“You are!” Sergio protested with a grin, “look, the character has a little angry face above their head!” 

Paula huffed at that, shoving Sergio gently in the shoulder as the customer left the virtual restaurant without any food. “See! That was your fault!” she accused, but he could hear the contentment in her tone. 

“I was helping you!” 

“Well, now they’re gone!” 

He reached over and tickled her stomach lightly, teasing that she needed to work harder on her hospitality skills if she wanted to run a successful restaurant. 

“I don’t know what that is,” Paula had said, putting her tablet face down on the floor and folding her arms, petulantly. 

“Well,” Sergio started, a thoughtful expression on his face as he readjusted his glasses, “why don’t I show you?” 

As he’d expected, Paula just frowned at him, looking at Sergio with a tilted head as though he’d just suggested the impossible. 

“Your mother should be home in, _what…”_ he pauses, taking a swift look at his watch, “just under two hours. How about you and I make something nice for her to eat?” 

“What are we making?” Paula asks, a smile breaking out onto her face as she looks at him. 

He offers his hand out to her, palm facing upwards so that she could place her own hand in his. _“Vamos,”_ he says, “we’ll see what we can do.” 

________________________________

“We’re missing a glass, Uncle Sergio,” Paula says, lining the cutlery up by the placemats. 

“Oh, you only need two placemats, Paula,” Sergio informs her, mixing the content in the pan, “I won’t be staying for dinner.” 

She frowns, putting both hands on her hips. “Why not?” 

“Well, I, uh...l only made enough for two,” he says, “I can just get something at home.” 

Paula opens her mouth to protest the matter, but she’s interrupted by the sound of the door opening, looking at Sergio with a somewhat panicked expression. 

He looks at her with a reassuring smile, passing her a small bowl of olives. “Here,” he says, “put these in the middle of the table.”

“For _decorate_ _effect?”_ Paula tries, eliciting a small chuckle from Sergio. 

_“Decorative_ effect,” he kindly corrects her, endeared by the fact she had evidently listened closely to the things they had discussed in the last couple of hours, _“muy bien.”_

An exhausted sigh sounds from the hallway as Paula stands eagerly in front of the table, hands clasped in front of her and a smile painted on her face. 

“Quarter-past six on a _Sunday,”_ Raquel mumbles under her breath, kicking off her shoes and making her way into the living area, “I need a new job.” She comes to a halt as she opens the door, narrowing her eyes suspiciously at her daughter. _“Paula?”_

The youngster just keeps grinning. _“Si?”_

“You’re looking very sheepish, _cariño...”_ Raquel explains, stepping further into the room and looking past her daughter’s shoulders, “where’s your Uncle Sergio?” 

Paula shrugs nonchalantly, holding out her hand as they had practiced earlier. “Can I take your jacket?” she asks, politely. 

“My _jacket?”_ Raquel frowns, but Paula just keeps her hand in midair, indicating that _no_ is not, in fact, an option. _“Fine,”_ she mumbles, shrugging it off her shoulders with ease, “take my jacket.” 

_“Gracias, mama.”_

Raquel nods, still clouded by confusion. “Have you had a good day?” she asks, trying to reinstate some kind of normality, but Paula just ignores her, turning on her heels and walking on through to the dining area. 

“Follow me, please.”

Raquel feels it’s easier not to argue at this point, rolling her eyes fondly as she follows in her daughter’s direction. Walking through the kitchen, she notices the recurring traces of someone having cooked there; two chopping boards and some dirty utensils out on the top, a piece of kitchen roll soaking up the contents of something spilled, and used pans placed above the dishwasher ready to be cleaned. 

“What have you two been _doing?”_ Raquel inquires with heightened curiosity, and within seconds she gets her answer. 

She reaches the dining room, her eyes falling to the set table before her, and then onto Sergio, who stands behind the table in a fashion similar to Paula earlier - hands clasped, stance relatively formal, smile broad. 

He gives the youngster a quick nod, encouraging her to execute the next step in their little plan. 

“You can sit here, mama,” Paula says, using her small arms to pull one of the chairs out from under the table. 

Raquel takes her designated seat, her taken aback expression alternating between Paula and Sergio. “Who is this?” she says in jest, nodding her head towards her daughter and speaking directly to Sergio. “What have you done with my child?” 

Sergio just lifts his shoulders casually, alternating his gaze back to the young girl. “Do you want to help me get the food?” he offers. 

Paula nods eagerly, following him into the kitchen and reaching to grab one side of the dish. Sergio passes her a tea towel before she gets the chance to touch anything, advising her to cover her hands with such in case the bowl is hot. 

“Ready?” he asks, taking her small nod as a green light to start walking back through to the dining room, both being extra careful with the dish in hand. 

“Smells delicious, whatever it is!” Raquel muses, peering into the bowl that’s placed onto the table. “Ooh, paella!” she grins at Paula, putting an arm around her waist, “mama’s favourite!” 

“Sorry it’s only a chicken one,” Sergio interjects, clearing his throat lightly. “We know you like seafood but, uh...we had to work with what we could find.” 

Raquel shakes her head insistently, seemingly unable to stop smiling as Paula takes her seat, too. “It’s perfect, truly,” she says, reaching for the wooden spoon to serve some onto her plate. “Come on, _siéntate!”_

“Oh, I’m not—I didn’t make enough for myself,” Sergio explains, tucking Paula’s seat in for her. “You’ve had a long day, I’ll just clean up in the kitchen and then I’ll go.” 

“Nonsense,” Raquel comments, frowning at him, “there’s more than enough to share here.” 

“Really, it’s fine,” Sergio says, throwing the tea towel he’s holding over his shoulder and pushing his glasses up his nose as he forces a laugh, “I think Paula has seen enough of me for one day, anyway.” 

Paula stops filling her own plate with Paella, shrugging as though it’s the most casual conversation in the world. “Nope,” she says, matter-of-factly, “you did fun stuff with me...Papa never does that,” she looks up at him, and then refocuses on Raquel, “right, mama?” 

There’s a sudden silence that envelops the dining room, but Paula starts to fill her plate again, oblivious to the accidental atmosphere she’s caused. Sergio feels the sudden need to apologise, _just_ from sensing the discomfort in Raquel’s body language. 

He knows that she feels blame. He knows that she feels somehow responsible for Alberto’s lacking effort, that she takes the weight of justifying such on her own shoulders, and it’s difficult to witness - especially when he knows there’s no changing her mind. 

He’s heard Paula talk about her father before, making off the cuff remarks that she doesn’t ever see him, that he doesn’t talk to her often, even that he doesn’t _like her._

_“Papa says you’re the reason I don’t see him much,”_ she’d said to Raquel once, the three of them sitting on the beach with their feet in the sea. Raquel’s face had dropped, her hands digging gently into the sand as Sergio sat by her side feeling entirely helpless. He recalls asking Raquel back then if she’d needed some time alone, perhaps to process things or to talk it through with Paula. 

“When it comes to that man,” Raquel had said to him, anger settled between her lips as they formed a thin line, “there is _nothing_ to talk about.” 

Sergio had learnt that day that she didn’t need space or time when it came to Alberto. She didn’t need pity or empathy, she didn’t even need help explaining to Paula that he was just a _terrible_ person. 

What Raquel needed was someone to ground her again. Someone to remind her that Alberto did **not** define her, _nor_ did he define her relationship with Paula. 

Sergio clears his throat for the second time in minutes, alternating his gaze between the two of them. He notices the way Raquel holds her eye-line to the table, just like she had done at the beach that day. 

“So, which one of you is going to share their food with me, then?” he says, pulling out a chair for himself and sitting down. 

Paula grins wildly, handing him her spoon without an ounce of hesitation. “I will!” she announces, and Sergio chuckles as he takes it from her.

Raquel lifts her gaze, looking at Sergio with a gratitude that words couldn’t possibly capture, and he offers her an understanding smile in return. 

Like speaking in their very own language, _it’s enough._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, it means the world! 
> 
> I should be back on Friday with an update :) 
> 
> Let me know what you think, and stream 'illicit affairs' for sad feels, of course.
> 
> You can find me on Twitter at @sergiosraquel 💓


	5. tell yourself you can always stop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, my loves! :) 
> 
> Thank you once again for all the kindness you guys have given me in regards to the last chapter. I'm so sorry I haven't had chance to reply to some of your wonderful comments yet, but I can't stress enough just how happy I am that people are enjoying this story!! 
> 
> A little bit of an insight into Raquel's perspective in this one _(I said a little bit...just a little bit)_ hahaha
> 
> Really hope you all enjoy this chapter, and as always, your comments are so very appreciated<3

_“That was my first and last holiday fling,” Daniel brags, licking the froth from the head of his beer off his top lip,_ _“but I’m telling you, she was the best looking girl on that island.”_

_Mónica clears her throat, shooting a disapproving look in her boyfriend’s direction._

_“Until I met you, cariño,” Daniel says with a sickeningly sweet smile, throwing his arm around her just as Ágata enters their circle._

_“Nice save, jackass,” the brunette comments, rolling her eyes at him. She averts her attention to the gentleman standing amongst them, awkward looking, but well dressed in a shirt and tie, regularly nudging his glasses up his nose. “You must be Sergio,” Ágata says, extending out her hand._

_Sergio smiles politely in return, clasping her hand in his own and shaking it, courteously. “And, you are?” he asks._

_“Ágata,” she says, “I’ve been friends with Raquel since college.”_

_“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Sergio offers with sincerity, “all good things, of course.”_

_“Well, Raquel doesn’t shut up about you,” Daniel cuts in, taking another swig of his beer, “like, ever.”_

_“Oh,” Sergio says, confused at the prospect of Raquel speaking about him to another guy. He readjusts his glasses again as he speaks, “I, uh...I got the impression her friendship was...was more with Mónica...j-just from what she’s told me.”_

_“Oh, it is,” Mónica reassures him, nodding towards her other half, “he just lives vicariously through everything I tell him.” A grin breaks out on her face, kindness etched within her features as she says, “Raquel really does talk about you a lot.”_

_Sergio tries to ignore the skip of his heart at the very prospect of her talking about him at all, let alone to the nearest and dearest in her life. It goes without saying that he speaks to his brother about Raquel at any given opportunity, but at no point during their one year of knowing each other had he assumed that the feeling would be **at all** mutual. For that reason, he finds it nigh on impossible to suppress his smile. _

_“Well I, uh...she’s very important to me,” Sergio discloses, sipping his drink with a humble demeanour._

_“She’s important to all of us,” Ágata announces, raising her glass and encouraging the others to do the same, “and that’s exactly why we’re all here.” Her eyes scan the small crowd within the marquee, searching for the individual in question and finding her by the buffet table, chatting enthusiastically to some of her preferred work colleagues. “To Raquel!”_

_That captures the newly turned thirty-five year old’s attention, and she looks over with the biggest smile on her face, blushing slightly as some of the most important people in her life raise a toast to her._

_“¡Basta!” Raquel exclaims with a laugh, wafting her hand rapidly for everyone to put their glasses down, “you’re embarrassing me.” She makes her way over, one hand clutching at her bag and the other fiddling with the chain around her neck, involuntarily drawing immediate attention to it._

_“Oooh,” Mónica coos, shifting deftly out of Daniel’s embrace to take a closer look, “I love that!”_

_“Gracias,” Raquel smiles contentedly, her eyes seeking out the individual behind the present. “It was my birthday gift from Sergio,” she discloses._

_“Wow,” the blonde replies, inspecting the pendant closely, “a-and, what do the little numbers mean?”_

_Raquel looks at Sergio, silently redirecting the question to him._

_“They’re, uh...they’re geographical coordinates,” he says, hoping nobody notices the subtle flush dispersing across his cheeks. “Raquel is always talking about Palawan...”_

_“The island in the Philippines, right?” Ágata interrupts knowingly, her gaze switching from Sergio to her friend, “the one you used to show me pictures of in—”_

_“—in class all the time, yes,” Raquel grins, finishing her friend’s sentence, “I showed him the same ones.”_

_Sergio nudges at his glasses with the pad of his thumb, scuffing the sole of his shoe along the floor as he starts to speak again. “I mean, I said that I’d take her someday, but, uh...the figure in my bank isn’t quite on the same page, yet, so…”_

_“So, you bought her this in the meantime?” Mónica cuts in, seemingly awestruck. When Sergio nods, she looks over at Daniel with feigned contempt in her eyes. “Are you taking notes?” she teases._

_Ágata nods, her mouth slightly agape as she digests the information. “Don’t get me wrong, I like you, Ramos, but...this guy takes the cake,” she says, chuckling to herself in disbelief. She turns to Sergio, eyes widened as she shakes her head. “Where can **I** find one of you?” she asks, then turns to Raquel with equal plea. “Where can **I** find one of him?” _

_“Hanoi Diner.”_

_“Hanoi Diner.”_

_Both Sergio and Raquel answer, accidentally in sync as their equally dry humour surfaces. They look at one another, laughing with an unmissable fondness, and both blissfully unaware of Ágata’s background observations taking place._

_She makes some throwaway comment about going to check out the buffet spread, whipping her phone out of her pocket as she does so._

_Seconds later, Mónica’s phone vibrates with a text message._

_Ágata, 18:55: [and you’re telling me he’s just a friend???]_

________________________________

Raquel comes downstairs as quietly as possible, running a hand through her hair as she closes the door to the hallway with a gentle push. 

_“Well,”_ she remarks, walking over to the sofa and sitting beside Sergio with a huff, “she’s _finally_ in bed.” 

It’s 9:30PM, a whole hour and a half past Paula’s usual bedtime, and Raquel had only _just_ managed to convince her daughter to go upstairs. 

“I don’t want to go yet, mama!” she kept saying. “I’m not even tired.” 

Everytime the words left her mouth, Sergio had to look elsewhere, understanding now why Paula wasn’t usually allowed to nap. Raquel was getting increasingly irritated with her, eventually proposing the ultimatum that they could have pancakes for breakfast the next day if she just agreed to go to bed. 

_That was enough to convince her, of course_. 

Sergio anticipated leaving after they’d eaten, staying to lessen the atmosphere for Raquel following Paula’s comment about her estranged father, but his friend kept insisting that he stayed. 

The three of them did the dishes together, watched TV together, even played on Paula’s cooking game together, with Sergio explaining to Raquel that Paula had improved since her practice this afternoon in real-life hospitality, much to Paula’s dismay. 

“I was good before, mama!” she’d protested, and Raquel ran a hand through her daughter’s hair. 

“I’m sure you were, _cariño,”_ she reassured her, “just ignore your Uncle Sergio...that’s what I usually do.” 

Sergio had simply laughed, a feeling of contentment overpowering his need to react to such. Anyone from the outside looking in would probably assume that they were a family, and a really _happy_ one at that - sometimes he even felt that way, himself. 

“I’m surprised you haven’t gone to bed, too,” Sergio muses, looking at her sympathetically. “You must be exhausted.” 

Raquel hums, shrugging with nonchalance. “I’m okay,” she says, readjusting herself on the sofa to face him properly. “What about you?” 

Sergio involuntarily yawns in that moment, unintentionally communicating that _yes,_ he is tired. “A little,” he murmurs, turning his neck to look at her and grimacing as he does so. 

“What’s wrong?” Raquel frowns. 

“Oh, nothing,” Sergio says, bringing his hand up to the bottom of his neck, “I think I’ve just laid funny today.” 

Raquel narrows her eyes at him, her expression teasing. _“Laid_ funny?” she asks, incredulously. “Has my daughter been looking after herself?” 

“I was playing Sudoku,” Sergio corrects her, hissing again as he moves too quickly, “and _your daughter_ was in _her room_ , thank you very much.” 

“Sudoku?” Raquel queries, raising an eyebrow as she smirks at him. 

“Yes,” Sergio says, his face falling defensive, “It stimulates the brain,”

Raquel’s smirk transcends into a grin, giggling at his serious expression. “Ah,” she muses, “is that so?”

Sergio pulls his glasses off his face, wiping the lenses with the bottom of his t-shirt. “You’re mocking me,” he responds knowingly, adding, “it’s actually very difficult,” as he waves his glasses in her face. 

“Well,” Raquel starts, lifting herself off the sofa and walking around the back of it to Sergio’s side, “you’re a very clever man, Marquina, _so…_ ” she pauses, gesturing with her hands for him to shift along the sofa, “I can’t imagine you struggled too much.” 

“What are you doing?” Sergio asks over his shoulder, shuffling along regardless. 

Raquel smiles, rubbing her hands together in preparation. “I’m going to give you a massage,” she says, slotting behind him with her lower legs folded beneath her. 

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Sergio says, trying to look at her. He winces, overturning his neck and bringing his hand up to touch it involuntarily. _“Really,_ it’s fine.” 

“It seems it,” Raquel comments, sarcastically, rolling her eyes at his defences, “come on, take your shirt off.” 

Sergio turns around with his whole body, kneeling opposite her on the sofa. “My shirt?” he asks, incredulously. 

“Yes, your shirt,” Raquel responds, her tone matter-of-fact, “I won’t get right into the tension, otherwise.”

Sergio sighs, doing as she asks, but reminding her all the while that she absolutely doesn’t have to do this. “I can just put something on it when I get home,” he says, turning back around, but Raquel simply ignores him, shuffling forward and placing her hands readily atop his shoulders. 

“Sergio, you’ve looked after Paula all day, _and_ helped with her homework, _and_ prepared a meal for when I got home...” 

_“And_ completed a difficult Sudoku grid,” he interrupts with a smile, playing along.

“Well, _exactly,”_ Raquel teases back, starting to dig her thumbs into the muscles at his lower neck, “this is honestly the least I can do.” 

He lets out a pent up sigh of relief, his body loosening beneath her touch as she pushes into the knots. “You’re very tense,” she comments, and Sergio let’s a small laugh escape his lips. 

“I just opened my own restaurant in the space of two hours,” he remarks, smiling despite having his back to her, “it was no easy feat.” 

Raquel laughs, resting her forehead gently against his back as she does so. “Of course,” she mutters, continually adding pressure to the tenser areas around his shoulders and neck, “and I’m sure Paula wasn’t exactly the co-chef of your dreams.” 

“In her defence, she was actually very— _ow,”_ he hisses, stopping mid-sentence as Raquel presses into a particularly rigid knot in his lower neck.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, although she doesn’t ease off at all, simply letting Sergio grow accustomed to the slight pain. “I know it hurts a little, but that means it’s working.” 

“Are you sure?” he asks, grimacing again. 

Raquel nods, despite the fact he can’t see such. “I promise.” 

She continues to move her hands around his body, exerting firm, but gentle pressure onto the areas that require such. Sergio can feel the stiffness in his neck dissipating, letting out little groans of satisfaction every time she alleviates some of the tension, and he knows that he’s relishing in her touch a little more than he should be. 

“You’re actually very good at that,” he remarks, rolling his shoulders back a couple of times as Raquel taps on his back to let him know that she’s finished. 

Raquel hums in agreement, her expression self-assured as she shrugs nonchalantly. “I’ve been told,” she says, shifting the pillow behind her so she can sit more comfortably on the sofa. 

Sergio gets to his feet, bending down to grab his t-shirt that had been discarded on the floor. “Oh really?” he asks curiously, pushing his glasses back up his nose, “who by?” 

“Well _you_ just now, obviously,” she muses, eliciting a grin out of Sergio as he pulls his t-shirt back over his head, “and, uh…” there’s a pause, an invasively thoughtful expression ghosting across Raquel’s features, _“Alberto,”_ she adds finally, forcing a small smile. “He, uh...he used to have a lot of trouble with his back, so…” 

“Right,” Sergio mumbles, readjusting his glasses despite there being no need for him to do so, “well, we don’t need to talk about him,” he adds hurriedly, sitting by her side again. 

“No,” Raquel agrees, letting out a breath that she didn’t know she was holding, “no, we don’t.” She hesitates momentarily, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she turns her body to face him. “But, thank you.” 

Sergio looks at her, a blank expression residing on his face. “For?” he asks, gently. 

“For staying earlier,” Raquel starts, _“...you know,_ when Paula mentioned him.” She takes a deep breath, and her exhalation is somewhat shaky as she says, “it meant a lot.” 

“Oh, that’s quite alright,” Sergio reassures her, shrugging as though it’s nothing. “Besides, I _was_ head chef tonight,” he adds, gently nudging into her with his shoulder, “it was only fair that I got to eat.” 

Raquel shoots a grin in his direction, appreciating his attempt to lift the mood a little. “Ah,” she muses, “so you only stayed for the food?” 

_“Precisely,”_ Sergio remarks, placing a tentative hand on her knee. It’s his way of saying _of course I stayed for you,_ all whilst maintaining the lightness of the mood. 

“Got it,” Raquel smiles, narrowing her eyes suggestively, “and there I was thinking you were just here for the sex.” 

There’s a playfulness to her tone, but Sergio seizes up nonetheless, instantly removing his hand from her leg. “Raquel,” he starts, seemingly a little lost for words, “don’t... _god,_ please think I assume anything because of what happened last night. W-we don’t _ever_ have to...” he pauses for a second, concerning himself with his choice of wording as he readjusts his glasses, “...have to do _that..._ ever again _._ I mean,w-we don’t even have to speak about it, not if you don’t want to.” 

Raquel cocks her head curiously. “And what if I _do_ want to?” 

“What?” Sergio asks, searching her expression for answers, “y-you want to talk about us... _it..._ you know, w-whatever you want to callit?” he stumbles.

Raquel rolls her eyes fondly, clasping both of her hands over his own. “Sergio,” she says, her lips turning up into a smirk, “we slept together _once._ We’re not in some kind of messed up, polygamous marriage.” 

He nods promptly, suddenly feeling foolish for overcomplicating matters. “Of course,” he mumbles, averting his gaze to the wall, but Raquel continues regardless. 

“It doesn’t change anythingbetween us, you know?” she reassures him, nudging his chin with her finger and thumb to recapture his attention. _“Anything,”_ she repeats, smiling at him with kind eyes. 

Sergio wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, letting out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding. “Okay,” he mutters, “that’s...that’s good.” 

“But, just for the record,” she grins, giving his hand a light squeeze with her own, “I didn’t say _a_ _thing_ about never doing it again. In fact, I assumed quite the contrary.” She pulls her hands away, but her approach remains soft and non-judgemental, “but if you don’t want to, then—”

“No, no, no, I _do_ want to,” Sergio interrupts, mentally kicking himself at how overly eager he must sound, and so he tries to reign it in with a more nonchalant remark. “I mean, it’s not as though either of us are going to get itelsewhere, is it?” he laughs, frowning at the way Raquel cocks her eyebrow in return. He nudges at his glasses, awkwardly, “n-not that you’re not—”

“Charming, Sergio, _thank you,”_ she cuts in incredulously, folding her arms across her chest and flopping against the back of the sofa. “You’re right, though,” she huffs. 

“Well, there we go,” Sergio says decisively, resting himself back into the sofa, too, “more reason for us to do it then.” 

They sit side by side, arms folded in equivalent fashion and both staring straight ahead, almost like a married couple after an argument in which neither can admit they’re wrong.

It’s Raquel who opts to break the silence in the end. 

“So you _do_ want to hook up, then?” she asks, turning her neck to face him, “like, regularly?” 

Sergio unfolds his arms, pushing his _damned_ glasses up his nose again. “Well, is that what you want?” 

“I’m asking _you_ if it’s what _you_ want,” Raquel points out, bluntly. 

“Like a…” Sergio stops to clear his throat, “like a friends with benefits type of thing?” he asks, eliciting a bemused smirk from the woman before him. 

“So _that’s_ what the kids are calling it now-a-days?” she muses, whispering the term again under her breath. 

“In the University I teach at, _yes,”_ Sergio replies, returning her smile and feeling himself relax slightly, “that’s _exactly_ what they call it.” 

“Okay,” Raquel chuckles, shifting her body now to face him in her entirety. “No strings attached?” 

Sergio shakes his head. “Absolutely none,” he lies. 

Raquel pauses thoughtfully. “No staying over after sex?” 

Her friend nods. “We have our own respective homes to sleep in,” he states, matter-of-factly, “so there would be no need.”

“And if you meet someone in the meantime, you tell me, okay?” Raquel says.

“Doubtful,” Sergio comments, “very doubtful.” 

_“Sergio.”_

_“Fine,”_ he rolls his eyes, “yes, whatever, agreed.” 

“And I’ll do the same if _I_ meet somebody.” 

_The far more likely outcome,_ he thinks, but it would burn his throat too much to say the words aloud, so he settles for a nod instead. 

“Okay,” Raquel smiles, raising her eyebrows, “Well, I’m in if you’re in,” she says, holding out her hand and awaiting his acceptance. 

Sergio puts his hand into her own, the two grinning as they shake on it. It’s like signing a contract to break his own heart. _“Es un trato,”_ he agrees, solemnly. 

They stay like that for a few seconds until Raquel lets go of his hand, placing such on her knee as she glances around the room. “So…” she drags out theatrically, eliciting a small smile from Sergio.He knows what she’s about to say, and, what’s more, Raquel _knows_ that he knows. “Do you wanna fuck now, or?” she asks, bluntly. 

Sergio’s kiss is her answer. 

________________________________

For Raquel, the working weeks continued to pass as quickly as ever, her demanding schedule never really giving way to space for anything else in her life. Of course, she always had her evenings to play with, along with the majority of her Saturdays, and that of which she dedicated her available time to hadn’t changed at all - it was the same as it had always been. 

Her family, her friends, _herself,_ and Sergio. 

She’d often argued with herself as to why Sergio came within a separate category to her other friends, justifying it in her head that he was _just different._ She wouldn’t spend time with Sergio alongside the likes of Mónica or Ágata, not unless it was entirely necessary; their conversations just wouldn’t blend. Sergio was a lot more flexible when it came to arranging to meet - she could see him anywhere at any time. _He made time._ Her relationship with the girls wasn’t like that. 

Granted, he was most definitely in a category of his own _now,_ but she hadn’t crafted him as a separate pillar of priority _just_ because they were sleeping together - he’d always been placed in a league of his own. 

Honestly, Raquel just never took it upon herself to justify why. 

It’s Saturday, now - two weeks exactly since she’d had sex with Sergio for the first time, and 13 days since they’d _officially_ agreed to hooking up regularly. In that time, she’d seen Sergio on eight evenings out of _said_ thirteen, and on seven of _said_ eight, they’d slept together. 

She’d known that introducing regular sex back into her life couldn’t be anything but beneficial for her - that’s why she’d suggested it in the first place, but a variable she hadn’t considered, of course, was _just_ _how_ regular the sex would be, and how much of her free time it would take. 

Their arrangements to meet were never explicitly _named_ as arrangements to sleep together, but that’s often how it ended up, with both herself and Sergio having an evidently heightened sex drive after having such reintroduced to their lives (or just introduced _in the first place_ on Sergio’s part,Raquel often teased. The comment never failed to get a rise out of him).

On Tuesday night, she’d simply asked him to call by the supermarket, explaining that their local store would be closed by the time she finished work and she needed some bread for Paula’s sandwiches to take to school. Raquel had offered to call by his apartment on her way home to collect it - an 8PM stop off that turned into sex on Sergio’s sofa. 

_Again._

Still, she’d give them a little credit where credit was due, they were both sticking firmly to their rules - no strings, nothing at all to change in terms of their friendship, and _**no**_ staying over afterwards. 

Although, come to think of it, Raquel couldn’t recall them actually having sex in either of their respective beds, yet. 

Sergio never seemed too keen on the idea, using the excuse of _“but, Paula’s upstairs...not to mention your mother!”_ whenever they were at Raquel’s house, and simply pulling her onto the sofa before they even got the _chance_ to make it to another room in his apartment. 

Perhaps, upon reflection, the bedroom just felt a little _too_ intimate for their situation.

That’s what she tells the girls when they meet tonight, anyway. 

“What do you mean _too intimate?”_ Ágata scoffs, very nearly choking on her Martini as she hears the words leave Raquel’s mouth. “What could be more intimate than fucking the living _daylights_ out of each other?” 

Raquel gives her a soft kick under the table as Mónica rolls her eyes despairingly. “Do you always have to be so vulgar?” she asks, Mónica backing her up with an agreeable nod. 

“It’s not vulgar, it’s the _truth,”_ Ágata retorts, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “Besides,” she adds, turning to the blonde beside her in the booth, “how many of your friends are _you_ fucking on the sofa, Món?” 

Mónica takes a small sip of her cocktail, her expression sheepish as she mumbles, “just Daniel.” 

“Well, exactly _,”_ Ágata stresses, “and he’s your fiancé _.”_ She reaverts her attention to Raquel, cocking her eyebrow as she speaks, _“fiancé,_ honey. Can you understand my grievances, here?” 

Raquel pulls a face. _“Please,”_ she says indignantly, waving her wine glass in the air, “like _you’ve_ never slept with somebody who didn’t fall under the category of _‘significant other’.”_

“Correct, you may be,” Ágata agrees with her, “but I sleep with strangers, Raquel, and then I kick them out. I don’t sleep with my best friendof, _god,_ however many years—”

“On multiple occasions, too,” Mónica cuts in, eliciting a glare from Raquel. 

“Who’s side are you _on,_ here?” she remarks. 

“Sorry,” Mónica mumbles, “I just... _I don’t know._ I didn’t really peg Sergio as the _hook-up_ type.” 

Ágata scoffs loudly, letting out a sharp laugh as she takes another swig of her drink. “He’s _not,_ that’s why,” she states, matter-of-factly, “but Raquel says ‘ _jump_ ’ and that boy asks her _‘how high?’_ every goddamn time.” 

Raquel puts her wine glass down with force, folding her arms across the table defensively. “That is _not_ true,” she says, turning to the blonde beside her, “Món, do you think that’s true?” 

_“No,”_ Mónica looks up from behind her glass, shooting a smirk in Ágata’s direction _, “maybe.”_ She reaches a hand out, placing it over Raquel’s forearm as the brunette sighs, loudly. “Oh, _c’mon_ Raquel,” she remarks, “you don’t think he’s into you? Even just a _little_ bit?” 

“No, I don’t,” Raquel replies bluntly, toying with the chain around her neck. Her fingers seek out the pendant - a slightly tarnished, sterling silver disc, engraved with the geographical coordinates of the Island of Palawan - and it feels oddly cold between her fingers, grounding her as she says, “we’re just friends.” 

Ágata hums, entirely disbelieving as her eyeline follows Raquel’s hands, shaking her head at the necklace. “To _you,_ maybe,” she comments with disapproval, quick to notice the death stare that she receives shortly afterwards. Taking that as a silent request to shut up _,_ she lets her better judgement kick in, opting to do so. 

“I’ll get us some more drinks,” she announces, walking over to the bar and pulling her phone out of her bag. 

Seconds later, Mónica’s phone vibrates with a text message, like déjà vu from five years prior. 

_Ágata, 21:28: [just friends my ass.]_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading :) 
> 
> I'll try to have Chapter Six with you all by next Monday/Tuesday, but apologies in advance if there's a delay!
> 
> Let me know what you think, and stream 'illicit affairs' for sad feels, of course.
> 
> You can find me on Twitter at @sergiosraquel 💓


	6. clandestine meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!! 
> 
> This chapter includes reference to the song 'Brown Eyed Girl' by Van Morrison, which I know a lot of people (like me) associate massively with Serquel, so I hope you enjoy what I've done with it :) 
> 
> I feel like the scene has been very much set for the story now, so I wanted to provide a lighter chapter before things get a bit...rubbish, let's say, for Sergio (*cries*). 
> 
> As always, your comments make my whole world brighter. I love you guys so much.

Sergio hums to himself as he folds two corners of the paper inwards, flattening the crease with his finger and thumb.

 _“O partigiano, portami via, O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao_ ,” he mumbles under his breath, the infamous Italian anthem playing quietly from his vinyl player as he makes the next fold in his origami structure.

It’s a one-track record, the same version of the same song playing over and _over_ again whenever he places the needle onto the vinyl disc, but Sergio really doesn’t mind. It’s one of his and Ándres’ favourites - a somewhat sentimental attachment that goes all the way back to their _father’s_ father. 

Raquel often teases him about it, arguing that Sergio should receive some share of royalties from the song, he listens to it that often. “And who owns a one track vinyl these days?” she remarks on the regular, _“let alone_ the vinyl player, itself.” 

Of course, Raquel has grown somewhat fond of the contraption over time, averting her disapproval to the sparsity of Sergio’s actual record collection. 

“Your music taste is an _unforgivable_ offence,” she said once, eliciting a frown from her friend.

“Well, what do you propose I listen to?” he asked petulantly, folding his arms across his chest. 

Raquel had looked over at him with a shy smile, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Have you ever listened to Van Morrison?” she asked. 

By the time she made her next visit to his apartment, Sergio had Van Morrison’s greatest hits awaiting her arrival - a two sided record that he still owns to this day. Truth be told, despite the fact that his initial purchase had been for Raquel’s benefit, he quite enjoys it himself, now. He’s even downloaded a couple of tracks onto his phone. 

He holds his newly-made paper bird towards the light, observing it from a couple of different angles before placing it on his bookshelf with a smile. He catches a brief glimpse of the time - _23:24PM_ \- deciding promptly that he should probably reside to bed, unwilling to dedicate anymore of his Saturday evening to the lonely, albeit entertaining, task of making origami. 

He reaches over to the side table by the sofa, feeling around for the lamp switch and leaving himself in partial darkness, illuminated only by the spotlights aligned above the kitchen of his apartment.

Sergio lets the end of the song play out before he lifts the needle off the vinyl, doing so justin time to hear the ringtone of his phone. He huffs to himself, removing his glasses and wiping his eyes with the back of his forearm. “I don’t want to hear about your poker night, Ándres,” he grumbles to himself, walking through to his room and peering at the caller ID.

_Oh._

He pulls the charging cable out of the bottom of the phone, bringing it to his ear as he slides along the screen to answer. “Raquel?”

“Sergio, it’s Mónica,” a voice sounds through the speaker, “I’m so sorry, did I wake you?” 

“No, _no..._ n-not at all,” he reassures her, nudging his glasses up his nose awkwardly, “although, I’d be lying if I said I was expecting your voice at the end of the line,” he pauses uncomfortably, “is everything okay?” 

“Yes, _kind of…”_ Mónica says, participating in a muffled, inaudible conversation mid-sentence, “... _no._ Raquel is—”

“Fine!” he hears a familiar voice shouting in the background, “Raquel is _fine.”_

“You couldn’t _spell_ fine right now, you _motherfucker_ ,” another voice retorts, a hoarse cackle following shortly after. _Ágata,_ Sergio thinks. 

He clears his throat, trying to gauge the situation at hand. “I-is she okay?” 

“Well, put it this way,” Mónica starts, “we _did_ have a taxi, then Raquel started gagging outside of _said taxi.”_

“She’s been sick?” Sergio asks, just about balancing on the line between amusement and concern. 

“No, _thank God,”_ Mónica explains, “but the driver didn’t stick around long enough to find out. Now nobody, and I _mean_ nobody, will take us.” 

“Even Daniel turned his nose up at us!” Ágata yells in the background, much to Mónica’s despair. 

“He’s been drinking,” she corrects the brunette, bluntly. “Have you, Sergio?” 

“Have I what?” 

“Been drinking?” 

“You mean, can I come and pick her up?” he asks, raising an eyebrow with no-one as his witness. 

“Would you?” Mónica says, her voice verging on the side of desperate. “We didn’t know who else to call for her.” 

Sergio’s insides warm a little at that. He likes the fact that Raquel’s friends know she can rely on him - it makes him feel good. _Worthwhile._ It gives him purpose beyond sexual measure, as it stands. 

“Just text me the address, a-and I’ll come through,” he says, walking back out into the kitchen and scanning the room for his keys.

“Sergio’s coming to get her,” Mónica discloses at the other end of the line, presumably to Ágata. “Thank you _so_ much.” 

“That’s quite alright,” he says, phone lodged between his shoulder and his ear now as he opens the cupboard beneath the sink, “I’ll, uh...I’ll bring a couple of waste bags.” 

“Sensible,” Mónica muses, “I’ll text you that address. Thanks again, Sergio.” 

And then the line goes dead. 

________________________________

“Sergio?” Raquel slurs as he steps out of the car. She has one arm slung around Mónica and the other around Ágata, both of whom smile at him gratefully. “What are...why are you here?” 

“I’m just here to pick you up,” he says gently, shooting the other two a bemused grin. “I’m going to help you into the car, okay?” 

“I can do it by _yourself…_ my-myself,” Raquel protests poorly, although, despite her verbal objection, she takes his hand in her own when he reaches out for her. “Aren’t you going to stay for a drink?” 

“I don’t think I’m quite dressed for the occasion,” Sergio jokes, lifting her arm over his shoulder and wrapping his own around her waist. “Come on,” he says, guiding her into the passenger seat, “watch your head, okay?” 

“You watch _your_ head,” Raquel grumbles back, obviously as reluctant to be patronised by a man drunk as she was sober. She starts to unzip her boots, kicking them off her feet and complaining that her heels are burning. 

“Does anybody else need a ride home?” Sergio asks sincerely, nudging at his glasses with his finger and thumb.

Mónica smiles at him, her features the epitome of gratitude as she says, “we’ll just get a taxi.” She peers over his shoulder and into the car, giggling at the way Raquel is flippantly rummaging through the CDs in his glove box. “I think you’ve got enough on your plate already, no?” 

“Fair comment,” he says, “Ágata?”

The brunette shakes her head. “Taxi suits me just fine,” she replies, “just look after that one, okay?”

Sergio nods agreeably, mouthing _‘of course’_ as he walks round to the drivers side. He despairs at the sight through the window, Raquel having placed every CD that had lost her interest onto his seat, and he starts to counteract her progress.

“What is it you’re looking for?” he asks, his tone patient as he carefully places each CD into the side-pocket of the car door, clearing the space so he can actually get in, “is it Van Morrison?”

She grins at him adoringly, nodding with bouts of enthusiasm. “How did you guess?” she says, but her face quickly falls serious again, her bottom lip jutting out ever-so-slightly. “I thought you had his CD?” 

“No,” Sergio reminds her, finally getting into the car and clicking his seatbelt in, “I have the _vinyl_ remember? For my record player?” 

Understanding dawns upon Raquel’s face as she recalls such. “Ohhh, the record player,”she smirks, and her tone is somewhat teasing, “Sergio Marquina’s _record player.”_

“Would you like this ride home or _not?”_ he asks her firmly, smiling at the way she presses her lips together in a thin line. 

_“Lo siento,”_ she says theatrically, pretending to lock the end of her lips and throw away the key, _“Professor.”_

Sergio laughs quietly, shaking his head as he pulls away from the kerb. Referring to him by his work title is something Raquel _always_ does when he gets somewhat grumpy with her, feeling like a student being chastised, and it makes him smile every time without fail. 

“Are you too warm?” he asks cautiously, noticing the way she starts to fan herself with her purse. “You can open a window, if you like. I’ve turned the heating down, too.” 

Raquel shakes her head, insistently. “It’s an age thing, Sergio,” she sighs, waggling her index finger in his face, “I won’t give into it.” 

“Right,” Sergio nods, trying to suppress his amusement, “understood.”

They fall into a comfortable silence, the radio humming mildly in the background as Sergio navigates the streets of Madrid, casting a glance at Raquel every couple of minutes to ensure she’s doing okay. Her head is leaning back against the headrest of her seat, eyelids fluttered closed and breathing slowly, carefully. She looks peaceful, practically incapable of almost throwing up outside of a taxi just short of _25 minutes ago._

Sergio breaks at a set of traffic lights, plugging his phone into the aux cable in his car to aid himself with a little company now that Raquel has drifted off to sleep. He’s quick to shuffle the few songs that he has before the lights change to green again, tuning in immediately to the familiar riff that starts airing out of the speakers. _Of course,_ he thinks. _Of course this would come on first._

Still, he’s helpless to do anything but smile, nudging Raquel’s shoulder gently with his free hand. “ _Raquel,”_ Sergio says, careful not to alarm her too abruptly, “hey, _escucha.”_

Raquel stirs beside him, rubbing somewhat aggressively at her eyes and, unbeknownst, leaving smudges of mascara beneath them. “What?” she asks, looking around in a bid to get her drunken bearings. 

“The song,” Sergio grins, turning it up a little louder, “can you hear?” 

Raquel’s expression communicates that she can’t quite decide how to feel, her brow creased as she says, “I thought you didn’t have the CD.” 

It’s proposed like a question, and Sergio shrugs in response, both hands sitting on the wheel. “I don’t,” he discloses simply.

That seems to be a good enough answer, or at least Raquel doesn’t opt to quiz him any further, a wide grin spreading across her face. She reaches clumsily to the volume control on the dashboard, increasing it as she starts to sing along, boldly. _“Whatever happened? To Tuesday and so-slow?”_

Sergio tries to suppress his ever-present smile, feigning seriousness as he sings, _“goin’ down the old mine with a…”_

 _“Transistor Radio,”_ Raquel joins in, the two of them entirely out of tune, barely even in sync. 

_“Laughin’ and a-jokin something,”_ Sergio mumbles, receiving a shove in the arm shortly after from his intoxicated companion. 

“Wrong!” she shouts, her features alive with happiness, _“so_ wrong!” 

“I’m concentrating!” 

Raquel scoffs, “not on the song.” 

_“No,”_ Sergio laughs, readjusting his glasses, “on the _driving_. _”_

“Well, your priorities are...they’re all wrong,” she remarks, stumbling over her words slightly. “Van Morrison first,” she smiles, “always.” 

Sergio rolls his eyes fondly at her. “Of course,” he says, starting to hit his hands one at a time against the steering wheel in beat with the music. _“Sha-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-te-da,”_ he sings along, glancing over at Raquel and awaiting her participation.

She presses the button down on the inside of the car door, winding down her window and singing at an obnoxiously loud volume, leaning her head towards the outside as she does so. 

Sergio laughs heartily, the pair of them nigh on _shouting_ the lyrics at this point, and his cheeks are starting to ache from smiling as he takes a left onto Raquel’s street. He reaches out to adjust the volume, conscious of children alike Paula who may be sleeping, but Raquel bats his hand away, stubbornly. 

“It’s almost done,” she says, “don’t be a killjoy.” 

Pulling up outside of Raquel’s house, Sergio puts on the hand break and holds his hands up in surrender. “Your neighbours, not mine,” he remarks with a shrug. 

Raquel cocks her brow. “And what are _my neighbours_ gonna do, huh?” she asks, folding her arms across her chest, “what are they gonna say?” 

“Well, _nothing_ if you come at them with that attitude,” Sergio says, smiling at her, “your _fierce_ reputation will precede you, I’m sure.” 

“And don’t you forget it,” Raquel retorts back, dragging her words out as she points playfully in his face. She makes a couple of attempts to unbuckle her seatbelt, both entirely unsuccessful, so Sergio reaches to do it for her in the end. 

“Will you be okay getting into the house?” he asks sincerely, turning off the engine and casting a glance towards her feet, “especially without any shoes on.”

Raquel rolls her eyes at him, picking up her boots and pushing the car door open. “I’ll be fine,” she reassures him, swinging her legs out and putting one socked foot onto the pavement. She pauses momentarily, feet still hanging out of the car as she cranes her neck to speak to him. “Unless you want to come in?” she says over her shoulder. 

Sergio clears his throat, suddenly affected by a non-existent humidity in the midnight air. “That’s, uh...that’s _very_ tempting,” he confesses awkwardly, nudging at his glasses with his finger and thumb, “but... _well,_ y-you’re drunk, a-and Paula will be—”

“—I meant for a drink, Sergio,” Raquel interrupts bluntly, a hint of bemusement to her tone, “a _tea...a coffee,”_ she continues, bringing her legs back into the car and smirking at him, “but, come to think of it...your idea sounds _way_ better.” 

He stares at her blankly for a second, trying to gauge whether or not she’s being serious. “So you’re...you’re not too drunk?”

“You mean would you be taking _advantage_ of me?” she presses knowingly, gathering herself as she closes her eyes. “I’m drunk, Sergio... _very_ drunk,” she opens them again, cocking her head to one side, “but I’m not _unconscious.”_

“Right,” he mumbles, his line of sight passing over Raquel’s shoulder as he nods towards her house, “well, what about Paula, a-and your mother?”

The brunette nods by his side, pursing her lips as though she’s considering something. She drops her shoes to the floor of the vehicle again, reaching over to the door handle and shutting it promptly. “You ever done it in a car?” 

Sergio’s mouth goes dry, swallowing thickly as he shakes his head. “What do you think?” he tries to joke, but his voice comes out hoarse and nervous, very much aware of the way Raquel is already pushing down the sleeves of her cami top. 

Her eyes are fixed on the rest of the road stretched out ahead, streetlights barely illuminating the houses surrounding her own. They’re in enough darkness to shadow her as she pulls her top over her head in one swift movement, and when she turns to look at Sergio, he’s sitting in the seat beside her practically motionless, _staring_. “I think you’re about to,” she grins, wiggling her fingers playfully in his face and pulling his glasses off.

 _“Vale,”_ Sergio mumbles, his gaze following Raquel’s movements as she puts his glasses on the dashboard of the car, repeating himself with a little more clarity this time. _“Vale.”_

He pulls her in for an impatient kiss, his hands residing in her hair as she tries to get as close to him as possible, clambering over onto his lap.

“Do we have enough room here?” Sergio asks against her mouth. 

“ _No_ ,” Raquel laughs, pulling Sergio’s t-shirt over his head, regardless, “but who cares?”

She throws his t-shirt onto the backseat, kissing along his collarbone with a certain desperation about her that Sergio just leans into, moving down his torso and letting her hands touch every inch of skin that her lips haven’t yet reached; shoulders, chest, shifting backwards off his knee to kiss just above the waistband of his pants.

Sergio elevates himself slightly so that she can pull them down, cursing under his breath when Raquel grazes her fingertips along the inside of his thighs, stopping _just_ short of his boxers each time. She re-focuses on stripping him completely of his pants, leaning back slightly to pull them past his ankles and consequently hitting the back of her head off of the steering wheel. _“Joder!”_ she curses, bringing her hand up to the part of her head that she’d impacted, “ _ow!”_

“Are you okay?” Sergio grimaces, a smile breaking out onto his face as he notices Raquel start to chuckle, too. 

“Yes,” she laughs, resting her forehead against his leg and changing her plea, _“no.”_

“I did warn you about the space,” he comments, craning his neck to look over his shoulder, “would we be better off in the back?” 

Raquel bites her lip coyly, nodding at him as she continues to rub at the back of her head. When he doesn’t move, though, she looks up at him through her lashes, confusion etched upon her face. “Go on then,” she instructs. 

“After you,” he says gently. 

Raquel rolls her eyes, but she obliges anyway, shaking her head as she climbs gracelessly onto the backseat. “Such a gent,” she teases, and Sergio smiles behind her as he follows suit, leaving his sweatpants on the floor by the clutch. 

As he’s climbing over, Raquel is already taking off the rest of her clothes, pushing her jeans and underwear impatiently down her legs and kicking them off as he gets to her. Sergio wastes no time in getting on top of her, particularly with his confidence being greater than it was two weeks prior, and starts to let his own hands wander, taking advantage of the switch in position. 

He mirrors Raquel’s movements from earlier, mapping out her body with his lips, just as she had done his. The lower his hands travel, the more of a reaction he gets out of her, and the more of a reaction she gives, the more of a reaction _she_ gets out of him. 

It’s a domino effect of sorts, except Sergio feels that he falls so much harder with each knock that he takes. Just as the woman beneath him is drunk in the traditional manner, he momentarily fears that he could get equally as intoxicated on _her_ _alone._

Knowing that he needs to ignore his internal monologue, he refocuses on the movement of his hands, brushing his index finger over her entrance and feeling how wet she already is. 

Raquel groans beneath his touch, providing Sergio with the confidence to insert one finger, and then another, captivated by the way her head falls back against the seat as her mouth falls open. 

“Is this okay?” he asks, although it feels like a bit of a stupid question considering her response. 

Raquel nods, her breathing harsh as she lets him know that it feels good, the exact words falling from her lips as he starts to move his fingers inside of her. “Can you go faster?” 

_“Claro,”_ Sergio mumbles, his brow furrowing a little in concentration as he strives to make her feel good, quickening the pace as he tries to writhe out of his underwear at the same time. 

Wrapping a hand around himself, Sergio moans softly, pulling his fingers out in a gentle motion and lining himself up at her entrance. 

_“Joder_ , _”_ Raquel whispers as he pushes inside of her, the sound sending a profound rush of blood straight to his groin, the hairs on the back of his neck rising into a standing ovation. 

He starts to move at a steady rhythm, his knuckles turning white as he grips tighter onto the nearest headrest with every thrust.

Raquel hooks a leg around him, pulling him in closer, _deeper,_ and the way she feels around him so often brings out a primal kind of instinct within Sergio that, prior to their arrangement, he didn’t even know he had. The noises born from his throat are hoarse and guttural, and his movements become increasingly sporadic, obsessed with the sounds that Raquel makes, _infatuated_ with the fact that he’s responsible for such. 

A thick humidity surrounds them as small beads of sweat disperse across Sergio’s forehead, the atmosphere steaming up the windows and cutting them off from the outside world. He recognises the familiar build-up of pressure within, originating from the soles of his feet and working through him, electrifying his bloodstream. 

_“Raquel, I’m…”_ he stutters, failing to formulate the word _close_ as she hooks both legs around him now, evidently chasing her own high, too. He can feel his thighs burning as he keeps up the momentum, their position proving _far_ from easy to find comfort in, but that’s what he gets for agreeing to _fuck in a car,_ he supposes. 

Well aware of how loud he’s getting, Sergio opts to bury his face into her neck, the expletives that fall from his lips now lost on Raquel’s hot skin as she starts to pulsate around him. She moans coarsely into his ear as she comes, and the need he feels to silence every sound she makes with a kiss is sostrong, it almost feels innate. 

But, his overly observant nature had picked up on the fact that they hadn’t ever kissed during sex. 

Before? _Of course._

During? _Never._

And after was _completely_ out of the question.

Sergio wasn’t under the impression that this was necessarily poignant to Raquel, nor was it something that either of them have been particularly vocal about - it just felt very much like an unspoken rule, communicated in the form of breaking eye-contact or one turning their head away from the other.

It’s as though kissing at their most intimate moment really does _make it_ their most intimate moment. It turns nothing into something, it turns a _surely not_ into a _what if?_

And so, Sergio keeps his head buried into Raquel’s neck, biting down slightly as his own release overpowers him. 

She rides him through it, rolling her hips as he loses the ability to do anything other than to just _feel_ , _feel, feel,_ and she laughs with him, too, when it’s over. 

“I can’t believe we just did that,” Sergio mutters, amusedly, reaching across to the dashboard in the front of the car as Raquel attempts to re-dress herself, still amidst a drunken haze. 

He gets a hold of his glasses, pushing them onto his nose awkwardly and pulling a face. “The lenses have steamed up,” he mumbles, unimpressed. 

Raquel chews at her bottom lip, suppressing a laugh as she observes his disgruntled expression. “My head hurts,” she discloses. 

“From where you hit it?” 

“No, no, no,” Raquel mutters as Sergio pulls his t-shirt over his head, “from the alcohol, I think.” 

“Self-inflicted,” Sergio says, following Raquel as she clambers over into the front seat. “Maybe you need some meds,” he adds.

Raquel hums agreeably. “Meds and water,” she remarks, massaging her fingers into her temples, “lots and _lots_ of water.” She grabs her boots off the floor and pushes the car door open, ready to depart for the second time that evening.

“Goodnight, Raquel,” Sergio says as she steps out onto the pavement, winding down the windows in a bid to demist some of the steam. “Lots of water, remember?” 

“Got it,” Raquel hollers back, although she doesn’t turn around to look at him again, preoccupied with the task of rummaging around in her bag for her house keys. “I’ll be leaving your taxi service a _very_ good review _,”_ she slurs out when she reaches the front door, looking over her shoulder to shoot Sergio a wide grin. 

“Five stars?” he asks, jokingly. 

Raquel puts the key in the door, freeing her hands so she can hold up some fingers for him to count. “Six,” she smiles, holding his gaze for a second before stepping into her hallway. “I’ll see you soon.” 

Sergio lifts his hand in return, giving her a small wave as she disappears behind the closing door.

 _Soon,_ he thinks. _Soon isn’t ever soon enough with her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this extremely fluffy chapter!!
> 
> Your comments mean the world, so let me know what you think, and stream 'illicit affairs' for sad feels, of course.
> 
> You can find me on Twitter at @sergiosraquel 💓


	7. you know damn well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovely people!! :)
> 
> I hope you're all having a wonderful week <3
> 
> I'll leave you all with chapter 7 and, as always, pray that it brings you all what you wish for (except for them getting together) (bc the chapter does not bring this, lmao). 
> 
> Your wonderful support, kudos and comments mean absolutely everything.

_“Please, Sergio” Raquel pleads with him, one hand on his arm as she searches his expression, “I’ll get down on my knees if I have to.”_

_Sergio readjusts his glasses, awkwardly. “Are you really that desperate?”_

_“You’ve no idea,” Raquel exhales, running a hand through her hair in exasperation, “she literally gets off on belittling people, Sergio, I can barely stand to be around the woman.”_

_“Why are you going, then?”_

_Raquel looks at him like he has three heads. “For Mónica, obviously,” she says, matter-of-factly, but Sergio still isn’t getting it - she can see as much in his face._

_“Well, what is Mónica doing inviting the likes of this…”_

_“Alicia,” Raquel reminds him._

_“Alicia...to her engagement party?”_

_Raquel shrugs, cradling her mug of tea. “I don’t know,” she confesses, “keeping up appearances, I guess.”_

_Sergio nods. “Which is what you’re trying to do, no?”_

_“Yes,” Raquel admits, looking him dead in the eye, “I admit, that is exactly what I’m trying to do, b-but if you met her, I swear you’d understand.”_

_“I don’t want to meet her,” Sergio remarks, nudging his glasses back up his nose, “she sounds atrocious.” He smiles involuntarily as he sees Raquel’s lips turn up over._

_“Oh, she is,” the brunette emphasises, shaking her head as she brings her mug to her lips, “words actually fail me.”_

_“A rare occasion,” Sergio grins at her, eliciting a scoff from his friend._

_“Ay!” she chastises him, but her serious demeanour dissipates almost instantly, returning his smile as she lets her gaze fall upon the window. Their momentary silence is comfortable as she observes the world from their usual position, sitting on opposite sides of their corner booth in Hanoi Diner. “She was just so judgemental last time I saw her,” Raquel continues, pulling faces and mimicking an irritating voice. “What do you mean you’re a single mother, Raquel?” she mocks, flicking her hair back, theatrically. “No man in your life at your age? That’s a little tragic, don’t you think, Raquel?”_

_Sergio laughs heartily, but he cocks his brow in disbelief, too. “She actually says those things to you?”_

_“With her whole damn chest,” Raquel nods, taking another swig of her tea, “and she always has this…this **look** on her face when she’s talking to me, l-like I’m some kind of...basket case.” _

_Sergio frowns. “Well, that’s her problem.”_

_“I know, I know,” Raquel strops with a sigh, folding her arms petulantly across the table, “I just wanted to prove a point, I guess.”_

_“Which is exactly why I won’t do it,” Sergio explains, evoking a flummoxed expression from the woman before him. He reaches his hand across the table, ignoring his anxious and overactive mind as he rests it on top of hers. “Because, you have nothing to prove, Raquel. Absolutely nothing. A-and I won’t involve myself in some...some elaborate lie just so you feel better about yourself in front of someone who, by the sounds of it, isn’t half the woman that you are. Not even close.” He pauses, using his free hand to readjust his glasses, the other drawing small circles of trust across her knuckles with his thumb. “You don’t need me, o-or any man for that matter, to validate yourself in front of this...this—”_

_“Bitch?” Raquel cuts in._

_“Well, yes...that,” Sergio mutters, “a-and as someone who isn’t fond of the word, even I can admit that this Alicia lady seems to be the exception.”_

_Raquel rolls her eyes. “She is,” she remarks, just before her gaze falls to the table, looking at the way his hand rests over hers. “Sergio Marquina,” she murmurs, glancing up at him with gratitude, “where have you been all my life, huh?”_

_Sergio’s smile is shy in return, his head getting the better of him as he pulls his hand away, tentatively. “Making origami in my apartment,” he jokes._

_Raquel exhales with a laugh, shaking her head at his ever-present need to mock himself. “Of course you were,” she mutters under her breath, looking at him with utmost sincerity. “Thank you.”_

_Sergio shrugs. “What for?”_

_“For always saying the right thing,” Raquel says, taking another sip of her tea and scratching at her brow with her free hand. “I’ll walk into that party, a-and I’ll tell her that I’m a single, successful and independent woman.”_

_“That, you are,” Sergio agrees, offering her a supportive smile across the table, “that, you most definitely are.”_

________________________________

“How’s things in the _humble abode_ then, Món?” Raquel asks with a mouthful of food, tucking into her lunch in the breakroom at work. “You and Daniel haven’t killed each other yet, no?” 

“Quite the contrary,” the blonde smiles, “things are good. Better than ever, actually.”

Raquel is on the phone to Mónica, having promised her friend a chat after feeling too unwell to do anything but _sleep_ the day before. 

“I’ll call you back tomorrow, okay?” Raquel had grumbled down the phone, “I can barely tolerate the sound of my own voice right now.”

Ever the understanding individual, Mónica had agreed without question; she’d even opted to swerve any _Sergio_ _related_ questions to save her friend from further headache. 

“Are you still living out of boxes?” Raquel asks her, now, reflecting on the last time she’d seen their newly acquired home. It essentially looked like a jumble sale, just with the exception of a mattress in the middle of the master bedroom. 

“Well, you can see the floor now,” Mónica jokes, “so, that’s _something._ We’ve got our flat warming this weekend, anyway, so you can see it then!” 

“Oh _shit,_ of course,” Raquel says, taking a sip of water, “I completely forgot about that.” 

“You can still come, though, right?” 

_“Please,”_ Raquel scoffs, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Mónica smiles, regardless of the fact that her friend can’t see such. “Have you mentioned it to Sergio, yet?” 

“No,” Raquel replies, getting up to rinse her tupperware out in the sink, “but I’m sure he’d love to come. I mean, let’s face it, he isn’t going to have any other plans, is he?” 

“Do you have to be so cruel about him?” Mónica implores, laughing pitifully down the phone, but Raquel just clicks her tongue. 

“It’s not cruelty, it’s _honesty,”_ she points out, “and nothing that I wouldn’t say to his face.” 

Mónica exhales, loudly. “This is true,” she comments, a hesitant silence commencing at her end of the line. “Oh, and Raquel…” 

“Hm?” 

“Alicia is coming.” 

Raquel shuts the tap off abruptly, throwing her tupperware onto the table in despair. This is the _very_ last thing she needs right now. Alicia is the _very_ last person she wants to see. “Are you kidding me?” she whines, resting her back against the kitchenette counter of the break room, “Mónica, _why?”_

“Same as every _other_ time - because I’ve known her since I was four _,_ Raquel. _Four,”_ she exasperates, but the brunette just huffs down the line. “Besides, her husband’s brother did the flooring in our house. We couldn’t exactly invite him and not _her,_ could we?” 

Raquel pulls a face. “Her husband’s _brother?_ ”

“Suárez,” Monica muses, “he’s really tall, good looking, his skin is a kind of gold—”

“Yes, I _know_ who Suárez is, Món,” Raquel discloses, impatiently. She glances up at the clock on the wall, starting to pack up her things as her lunch hour reaches a close. “I just had no idea they were related.” 

“Well,only through her marriage _,”_ Mónica informs down the line, “but related, nonetheless.” 

“So she’s bringing her husband, as well?” Raquel asks, despair embedded in her tone. 

“Yes.” 

_“Great,”_ Raquel mutters, “I wonder if _he_ thinks I’m a walking sob story, too.”

“You’re not a sob story, honey,” Mónica reassures her, confidence radiating from her tone in waves, “you’re Raquel fucking Murillo, the one _and_ the only,. 

Raquel chuckles down the line. “Hmm,” she muses, “the one and the _lonely_ in Alicia’s eyes.” 

“Well, who cares what she thinks?” Mónica stresses, _“besides,_ you could always tell her about you and Sergio.” 

“What _about_ me and Sergio?” Raquel says, cutting the subject off as quickly as it’s approached, “there’s nothing to tell.” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Mónica ponders, dramatically, “maybe that you’ve slept with him more times than I’ve slept with _Daniel_ this past week, no?” 

Raquel rolls her eyes. “I have to get back to work.”

“Convenient,” Mónica deadpans, and Raquel can _feel_ her frustration through the phone. “I’m just _saying_ , it’s not as though you don’t have a _sex life_ to talk about _,_ Raquel.” 

“Well, thank you, _truly,”_ Raquel grumbles, “you’re starting to sound like Ágata, you know that, right?”

Mónica laughs, although Raquel can hear her let out a deep breath. “Don’t say that,” she whines. 

“It’s true,” Raquel points out, but there’s no malice in her tone. She throws her bag over her shoulder, shooting one last glance at the time. “I have to go though, Món, really.”

_“Vale, vale,”_ Mónica mutters back, sighing, “just don’t forget to ask Sergio about the weekend, okay? He might have other plans.” 

Raquel chuckles. “He won’t have other plans.” 

“He _might.”_

“He won’t.” 

And, just as she’d imagined, Raquel was right - _of course_ Sergio didn’t have any other plans. 

In fact, when she runs it past him the following evening, he laughs at the very prospect of such.

“Other plans?” he asks, his expression flummoxed. The three of them are watching a movie - Sergio, Raquel, and Paula, with the latter lodged in the middle of them, so the two adults pursue their conversation over the top of the youngster’s head. “Does Mónica know me at all, or?” 

“Well, this is what _I_ said,” Raquel laughs, unintentionally luring an unimpressed expression from Sergio. 

“It’s good to know you’re defending me in my absence,” he says, flatly, but he fails to suppress his smile for too long. “I would like to come, yes, i-if they truly don’t mind.” 

“Of course they don’t,” Raquel assures him, “Món _asked_ me to ask you.” She throws him a genuine smile, reaching to his hand across the back of the sofa to squeeze it. “Her and Daniel really like you.” 

“Well,” Sergio sighs, nudging at his glasses with his finger and thumb, “after six years of effort, I-I’d like to think so, _yes,”_ he smiles, jokingly. 

Raquel returns his grin. “Trust me, it’s paid off,” she says, returning her hand to its previous position on Paula’s head, stroking the young girl’s hair gently. “Besides, I’m _definitely_ going to need you there, that’s for sure.” 

Sergio cocks his brow, his attention averting to the film playing on the television. “Because I’m your human _crutch_ when you’re drunk?” he teases, smiling more when he hears Paula laugh, too. 

“As a matter of fact, _no,”_ Raquel smirks back, tickling her daughter’s stomach as a signal that she’d heardher giggling agreeably with Sergio. “Because, Alicia is coming,” she then adds, her tone more serious.

“Oh,” Sergio mumbles, clearing his throat. He wonders momentarily if this is the _same_ Alicia that had attended Mónica and Daniel’s engagement party two years prior, _much_ to Raquel’s despair. _“Alicia_ Alicia?” he asks, cautiously. 

_“Alicia_ Alicia.” 

Paula shuffles between them, but her eyes remain fixated on the screen ahead as the credits begin to roll. “Mama _hates_ Alicia,” she remarks, nonchalantly. 

Raquel’s eyes widen, her hand coming to an abrupt halt in Paula’s hair. “Mama doesn’t hate _anybody,_ baby,” she says, glancing sideways at a bemused Sergio. 

“But, I hear you talking to Aunty Mónica about her all the time,” Paula explains with a shrug, “and _you_ say that—”

“Why don’t you head up and brush your teeth, cariño, huh?” Raquel interrupts, placing a quick kiss on her daughter’s head, “I’ll be up in a second, okay?” 

Paula agrees reluctantly, giving Sergio a quick hug before she disappears upstairs, departing on another promise from Raquel that she’ll follow her up, shortly. 

“Mónica’s still wanting to keep up appearances, then?” Sergio observes, although it comes out like a question. 

Raquel hums in agreement, collecting empty snack bowls and glasses off of the floor. “Well, _that_ and the fact that her brother-in-law helped out with the flat,” she explains, rolling her eyes as she heads through to the kitchen. “Apparently, Món couldn’t invite him without inviting _her,_ too _.”_

“I see,” Sergio nods, following her tracks. He pauses momentarily, hovering within her orbit as she starts to load the dishes into the sink. “And, what about you?” he asks, gently.

Raquel turns to look at him. “What _about_ me?”

“Well,” Sergio mumbles, clearing his throat, “are you going with the intention of, uh...of keeping up appearances?” 

“You mean, am I going to ask you to play _happy families_ for the evening?” Raquel says, recalling the last time she’d turned to Sergio when faced with the prospect of seeing Alicia. “No,” she exhales, “like you said...I had nothing to prove then, and I have nothing to prove _now_.” 

Sergio smiles, a familiar warmth in his stomach at the thought of his words staying with her, no matter how long ago it was. “Good,” he mumbles, _“good,_ that’s good...I’m, uh, I’m glad you see it that way.” 

_“Sí,”_ she breathes out, “thanks to you.” There’s a pause as Raquel tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, “but, I _do_ still need you there...just for my own sanity, more than anything.” 

“Of course,” Sergio replies, readjusting his glasses awkwardly as he approaches the subject at mind. “So, this Alicia...she, uh, she thinks we’re just friends?” 

Raquel folds her arms across her chest, humming agreeably. “We _are_ just friends, Sergio.” 

He tries to ignore the afflictive tug on his heart, swallowing back further questions about whether friends _really_ carry on the way that they do. She’d made it clear from the beginning that their arrangement was primarily about fun. About addressing needs. About everything _but_ feelings. 

And, who was Sergio to question something that he so willingly agreed to? 

_“Of course,”_ he says, clearing his throat to fill the silence, “I just...I didn’t know if she knew that... _you know?_ ” 

“That we’re sleeping together?” Raquel asks, arching her brow. “No,” she laughs, “no, she definitely does _not._ She’d have a _field day_ with that information, trust me.”

He takes his glasses off, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “Okay,” he mumbles, “just so I know where I stand, that’s all.” 

Raquel walks over to him, placing both hands on his cheeks. “You _stand_ as _far_ away from her as possible,” she beams, her eyes teasing, “that way, you’ll have a great night.” 

Sergio rolls his eyes. “Well, I can’t wait to meet her,” he says.

Raquel huffs out a breath. “You don’t mean that,” she comments, tapping at his cheeks, gingerly. 

“You’re right,” Sergio says with a small smile, taking her hands in his own and pushing them away from his face, _“I don’t.”_

________________________________

_Sergio waits patiently downstairs, drumming the tips of his fingers against the arm of the sofa. He can hear Raquel’s movements upstairs, frantic footsteps leading her from one room to another as she rushes to get ready, cursing every now and again as she tries to get her eyeliner right or fails to squeeze her purse shut._

_She eventually makes her way down, her footing a little lighter as she navigates the staircase, stepping through the door and presenting herself in front of Sergio with a humble shrug._

_“Well?” she asks, standing before him in a black body-con dress with a v-neck and an open back. Her hair is curled and collected at one side, and her outfit is accessorised with a pair of nude, open-toed heels and a matching clutch bag. “How do I look?”_

_Sergio is well aware of the fact that his returning expression is somewhat vacant, his eyes widened and his mouth slightly agape as he tries to gather himself. He sits forward on the couch, nudging his glasses back up his nose as he musters up something to say._

_“Is it too much?” Raquel asks, panicking as a result of his silence._

_“Wh—no,” Sergio shakes his head, clearing his throat abruptly, “no, no, not at all. You look…” a smile breaks out on his face, genuine and sincere, “wow.”_

_Raquel laughs, walking over to the mirror on the wall and putting a few strands of loose hair back in place, “speechless?” she jokes, glancing at him through the reflection of the mirror._

_Sergio doesn’t even bother denying it. “Quite,” he says, adjusting his glasses again as they fall into a comfortable silence. “Are you nervous?”_

_Raquel sighs, turning back to face him. “Not really,” she says, absentmindedly. “It’s not like I’ve never been on a date before.”_

_“I suppose,” Sergio says, nodding in response. “I think I’d always be nervous,” he explains, “no matter how many dates I’d been on.”_

_“And have you?” she asks, pulling her miniature perfume out of her bag and giving herself one last spray._

_“Have I what?”_

_“Been on a lot of dates?”_

_Sergio takes his glasses off, wiping at them with the end of his tie as he contemplates how truthful he should be in his response. “Only five,” he confesses in the end, “four of which were with my first girlfriend...the other I was forced into by Andrés.”_

_Raquel cocks her brow. “You only took your girlfriend out four times?” she asks, incredulously. “How long were you with her?”_

_Sergio shrugs. “About two years,” he explains. “I spent a lot of time in hospital, though, so…”_

_“Because of the autoimmune disease,” Raquel mouths almost inaudibly, “shit, Sergio, I’m so—”_

_“It’s fine,” he reassures her, waving dismissively._

_“No, no, it’s not,” she explains, scratching at her temple uncomfortably, “I just didn’t think.” She pauses, letting out a deep breath that she didn’t realise she was holding, “maybe I am a little nervous, after all.”_

_Sergio gets to his feet, shooting her a small smile. “You’ve really no need to be,” he says, pulling his car keys out of his pocket. “Are you ready to go?”_

_Raquel nods at him, following his lead as he makes his way to the car, only stopping to lock the door behind her. She pops the key beneath the plant pot to her left, tapping briefly on her phone as she texts her sister, Laura, the location of such. Her mother had been out for most of the day with Paula and Laura, and Raquel knew better than to assume that Mariví would remember their usual hiding place for it._

_Sergio is waiting for Raquel when she turns back around, heading over to the car door that he patiently holds open for her._

_“Gracias,” she says, ducking into the passenger seat, smiling fondly at her friend as he gets into the driver’s side. “You know, you look like **you** should be going on a date, too.” _

_Sergio looks over with a coy expression, pulling away from Raquel’s drive as he nudges his glasses up his nose. “I, uh...I always dress like this,” he says._

_“I know,” Raquel beams back, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything else.”_

_Sergio shrugs, stopping at some traffic lights. “To be honest, I don’t think I wearanything else.”_

_“Ah,” Raquel smirks, pulling down the sun visor to check her lipstick. “So, you sleep in a shirt and tie, too?”_

_“Well, that’s a very personal question, Raquel,” he remarks with a sideways glance, a gradual smile breaking out onto his face in reflection of her own. “One I’m not sure I feel comfortable answering.”_

_“Claro, claro,” Raquel giggles, holding her arms up in mock surrender, “I crossed a line.”_

_“Forgiven,” Sergio remarks, jokingly, “it must be those nerves kicking in again.”_

_Raquel nods, theatrically. “Oh, for sure,” she says, plastering on an earnest expression, but it eventually materialises into actual sincerity. “I hope he’s as easy to talk to as you are.”_

_The way Sergio’s stomach flips in response has him gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white, and he starts to argue with himself that it’s simply because he’s hungry._

_Perhaps, nauseous._

_Maybe even nervous on Raquel’s behalf._

_But, he’s known the woman beside him for just under four months now, and they’ve become friends. Good friends, in fact. Suchgood friends that Sergio had offered to give her a lift to a date with another man. And, of course, it’s something he offered to do **because** of their friendship. _

**_Not_ ** _to prove to himself that he is perfectly fine with the prospect of her being with somebody else._

_“If anything,” he muses, snapping himself out of his own train of thought, “I’m fairly certain he’ll be easier to talk to.”_

_Raquel pushes the sun visor back up, turning to look at him as the car stops at another set of traffic lights. “How so?”_

_“Well,” Sergio starts, a thoughtful look on his face as he ponders his response, “I’m a little, uh...a little awkward, don’t you think?” he asks, although he doesn’t look over in anticipation for her response, assuming it’ll be something of a simple nod._

_“Hm, a little,” she says with a shrug, as honest as Raquel had always been in the short time that they’d known one another. “But, not in a bad way or anything.”_

_“With all due respect, I-I’m not sure there’s a good way to be awkward,” Sergio points out, forcing a small laugh as he nudges at his glasses with his finger and thumb._

_“There most definitely is,” Raquel says, looking at him fondly, “and **you** , cariño, have got it down to a T.” _

_The term of endearment rolls off of her tongue with ease; so freely, in fact, that Sergio very nearly doesn’t notice. He wonders if perhaps Raquel refers to everyone in her life in such a way, what with being such a bold and affectionate individual. She doesn’t strike Sergio as the type to overthink her choices of terminology, or at least she hadn’t given such an impression within the last 15 weeks._

_He tries to cast a subtle glance in her direction, keen to search her expression for answers, but ultimately he comes up short._

_Raquel is looking directly at the stretch of road ahead, people watching as individuals go about their evenings beneath the haze of the city streetlights. Sergio can’t decipher whether or not she’s actively avoiding his gaze, reluctantly considering the possibility that she simply hadn’t thought anything of such a throwaway comment._

_He forces himself to accept the latter as being fact, allowing the hum of the radio to carry them over until Raquel finally breaks their silence._

_“Anywhere here is fine,” she says eventually, letting the quiet encompass them again as Sergio indicates to the right, pulling over just before a narrow side-street of quaint bars and non-chain restaurants._

_He maintains their silence whilst Raquel carries out one final check of her appearance in the sun visor, shutting it promptly once she’s content with such. “Well,” she breathes out, heavily, “thanks for the ride.”_

_Sergio offers her a grateful smile, shrugging in return. “Buena suerte,” he says, giving his glasses a gentle nudge, “not that you’ll need it, I’m sure.”_

_“Gracias,” Raquel replies, pushing the car door open and smoothing down the bottom half of her dress. “Am I still okay to call you for a lift home?”_

_“That’s if you need a lift home,” he pushes himself to joke, doing everything he can to reinforce the narrative in his head that he sees her as nothing more than a friend._

_“After the first date?” Raquel raises a brow, her tone unimpressed as she narrows her eyes at him, “you’ve a lot to learn about me, Sergio.”_

_They exchange their farewells before she closes the car door, offering him another quick wave before she turns her back to him, heading in the direction of her date._

_Sergio catches himself observing her every move as she walks away, only stopping when he physically forces himself to, pulling his glasses off in one abrupt motion and running the flat of his palm down his face._

_In that moment, he knows._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for stopping by to read :) 
> 
> I have such a busy week ahead so I've no idea when I'll be updating, but I'll try to do so by the end of next week.
> 
> Please do come back to me (if you wish) to see how Sergio gets on meeting Alicia hahaha.
> 
> As always, stream 'illicit affairs' for the saddest of feels, and let me know what you think!
> 
> You can find me on Twitter at @sergiosraquel 💓


	8. a drug that only works (the first few hundred times)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, angels!! 
> 
> This is my favourite chapter so far (and also the longest!!), so I really hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it🥰
> 
> I love, love, LOVE reading your comments, so thank you from the bottom of my heart to anyone who reads this story, leaves kudos and/or leaves a comment - you all make me so happy❤️
> 
> (P.S - I've no idea if anyone is familiar with the game they play in this chapter, but I play it with my friends at house parties and it's genuinely so much fun, so please do try it if you ever get chance, hahaha!!)

_“Jesus,_ Sergio,” Ágata muses, shaking her head as she shoots a smirk in his direction, “this is a flat-warming _,_ you know? Not a…” she moves her hand around theatrically, trying to conjure up the words to say, “...a high-school graduate _ball.”_

“Would you leave him alone? He looks great,” Raquel says, tuning out of her conversation with Daniel’s father, Agustín, to defend her friend. She turns to Sergio, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder, “you look _great.”_

Sergio shoves his hands into his trouser pockets, clearing his throat awkwardly and smiling gratefully at Raquel. “Thank you,” he mumbles, turning to Ágata, “but this really is no different to what I always wear.” 

“You’re kidding?” Ágata retorts sarcastically, taking a swig of her wine and nodding towards him, “I never would’ve noticed.” 

Raquel sighs, cutting in before Sergio gets the chance to respond. “Why don’t we go inside for a drink?” she asks him, her tone sympathetic as she places a hand on the small of his back. 

“A drink,” he reiterates, nudging his glasses up his nose, “sure.” 

Following Raquel’s lead, Sergio makes his way through the French doors of the balcony, smiling politely at the groups of people he passes on his way. He doesn’t recognise the majority of them, and he finds himself hovering awkwardly in the background of conversations that Raquel engages in, only ever speaking up when she drags him into an inevitable, obligatory introduction. 

They’d arrived at Mónica and Daniel’s flat about an hour ago, and the party was very much in full swing when they got there - music playing, drinks flowing and guests dispersed across the living area and the kitchen. Sergio had found himself particularly fond of the balcony within their new establishment, simultaneously drawn to the views of the city that it provided and the ability it gave him to fade into the background of the indoor hustle and bustle. 

Raquel had been pretty insistent so far on staying by his side, aware of the fact that he knew very few people in attendance compared to her. Sergio reiterated on many occasions that he’d be fine on his own, but within two minutes of leaving him with Agata, he’d been subject to a story about her latest sexual endeavours and he’d had his dress sense entirely picked apart.

For that reason, although he’d never tell his friend such, he sincerely hoped she wouldn’t leave his side again. 

“What do you want?” Raquel asks him, excusing Daniel’s friend Mirko politely as she attempts to reach the fridge, “a beer? Some punch? A glass of wine?” 

“Wine,” Sergio smiles, scratching at his brow as he chooses between the two bottles that Raquel is holding up, “red, please.” 

Raquel beams at him. “Good choice,” she says, turning her back and engaging in conversation with Mirko as she pours two substantially sized glasses. 

Sergio hovers awkwardly in the background, doing his level best not to get in anybody’s way as he waits for her to finish her conversation, reluctant to head back to the balcony without her in the knowledge that Ágata’s strong and judgemental presence awaits. 

He’s half expecting to be introduced to the gentleman that Raquel is chatting to, mentally preparing himself for yet _another_ dose of small talk when an alluring, overconfident voice sounds behind him. 

“Well, fashionably late is my forté, Mónica,” he hears, “besides, this one took _way_ longer than me in the—oh, _there she is!”_

He watches as Raquel turns to face the individual speaking, and the smile that appears on her face is unquestionably misplaced. “Here I am,” she jokes, forcing out a laugh and waving her glass in the air, “always with drink in hand.” 

Sergio opts to turn around too at this point, immediately drawn to the vibrance of the individual’s hair and the self-assured nature of her demeanour. There’s a man by her side, and he is notably tall, dark and handsome in the most typical sense of the description. He has olive skin and appears to be in very good shape - _a_ _gym bunny,_ Sergio supposes. 

“Long time, no see!” the redhead exclaims, smiling a little overbearingly as she embraces Raquel, kissing her on both cheeks, _“¿cómo estás?”_

_“Muy bien, muy bien,”_ Raquel discloses, enthusiastically, _“¿y tu?”_

The red-head shrugs. _“No me quejo,”_ she says dismissively, nodding in the direction of the man to her left. “You remember Suárez, right?” 

_“Sí, sí,”_ Raquel assures her, passing Sergio his wine with little attention, rather focused on the gentleman being introduced to her. 

“It’s good to see you, Raquel,” Suárez says, sincerity present in his tone as he takes her hand in his own, placing a chaste kiss just below her knuckles. 

Sergio tries to take a nonchalant sip out of his glass, his gaze drifting to the floor, the ceiling, the damned _fridge,_ for God’s sake - just anywhere that didn’t leave him glaring irrationally at the man who just kissed Raquel’s hand. He feels a pair of eyes on him as he does so, yet _another_ gaze that he’s been trying desperately to avoid within the last thirty seconds. 

“And, who’s this _fine-looking_ gentleman?” 

Feeling a blush creeping up onto his cheeks, Sergio swallows thickly, shooting a polite smile in the redhead’s direction. He has a pretty strong feeling who it is that they’re dealing with, right now. 

“This is Sergio,” Raquel says, turning her body towards him with a somewhat _pre-warning_ expression. “Sergio, this is Alicia.” 

_Of course it is,_ he thinks, extending his hand out a little awkwardly. “A pleasure to meet you.” 

“Oh, _please,”_ Alicia stresses, “the pleasure is all mine.” She completely ignores his stance, pulling him into a one-sided embrace, instead. 

Sergio stiffens in her arms, feebly reciprocating the kiss on both cheeks and smoothing down his shirt and jacket as he pulls away. He reaches out a hand to Suárez and, as the other man accepts the greeting, Alicia wastes no time in asking Raquel the all-important questions. 

“So,” she muses, nodding in agreement as Suárez asks her if she wants a drink, “what’s the status here, then?” 

Sergio clears his throat as he steps aside, giving Suárez better access to the choices of alcoholic beverage lined up behind him. “I’m sorry?” he asks, politely. 

“The status,” Alicia repeats, matter of factly, “are we talking _long-term,_ here? Are we dating, are we _fucking,_ are we—”

“Friends,” Raquel interrupts bluntly, aware of the flushed discomfort on Sergio’s face, “we’re just friends.” 

Alicia sighs in exasperation. “Are you kidding?” she exclaims, nipping Sergio’s cheek between her finger and thumb, “you find yourself a _cutie_ like this and you’re _still_ not getting any?” 

Raquel shoots Sergio an apologetic glance, her eyes communicating _‘I did warn you’_ without saying a word. “We’ve been friends for years, Alicia.” 

She pulls an incredulous face. “Well, this is the first _I’ve_ seen of him.” 

“He’s a very busy man,” Raquel explains, taking a sip of her drink, “isn’t that right, Sergio?” 

“My schedule is, uh, rather hectic, yes,” he responds agreeably, nudging his glasses back up his nose. 

“I see,” Alicia murmurs, narrowing her eyes at him inquisitively. “And, what is it you do?” 

“I’m a Professor at the, uh, the University of Madrid,” he offers, modestly. 

Alicia accepts a glass of wine from Suárez with gratitude, brushing her brother-in-law off as he announces he’s going to take a look around the finished apartment. “And what is it you teach, _Professor?”_ she asks, looking Sergio up and down with a passionate curiosity about her - _so_ unsubtle that it manages to get under Raquel’s skin.

“Biochemistry, primarily,” Sergio says, a little oblivious, “although I cover Economics every now and again.”

_“Wow,”_ Alicia exclaims, drawing the word out theatrically as she glances at Raquel, “handsome _and_ intelligent...your friend is quitethe catch.” She sips her drink a little sheepishly, reverting her attention back to Sergio as Raquel looks on, despairingly. “How has nobody snapped you up yet? Because let me tell you, if I wasn’t married—” 

“Speaking of which, where is your husband?” Raquel interrupts abruptly, catching both Sergio and Alicia completely off guard, “Mónica told me he was coming.” 

Sergio suppresses a frown, wishing he’d caught a glimpse of Raquel’s expression in that moment. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was bothered by the remark, even though there was little to no reason for her to be. Alicia was married, and Sergio was her _friend_ \- or so Raquel had said - regardless of their circumstances. 

_Perhaps he’d misjudged her tone_ , he thinks. _Yes, he must have._

“Oh, he is,” Alicia confirms, cutting off Sergio’s train of thought, “he’s just got a few errands to run, first.” She takes a generous swig of red, raising her glass in Raquel’s direction shortly after. “But who cares, _right?_ All the more time for us to catch up.” 

Raquel nods with an enthusiastic smile - _completely artificial, of course -_ explaining to Alicia that they were heading back out to the balcony with their drinks. “We left Ágata waiting, you see,” she excuses, hoping it would be enough to terminate the conversation. 

“Well, don’t let me keep you,” Alicia says, holding her hands up with innocence. Her eyes start to scan the room, glancing through the doorway to the living area. “I’ll go find Suárez and then we’ll join you,” she grins, _“vale?”_

Raquel grimaces, forcing a compliant nod. _“Vale.”_

Swilling the wine around in her glass, Alicia throws a wicked smile in Sergio’s direction. “Save me a seat, Professor,” she teases, her ponytail swishing profoundly as she turns to leave, and the remark encourages an unmistakable blush to spread across Sergio’s cheeks. 

He blinks rapidly, only really snapping back to reality when Raquel links her arm through his own. 

“Do you see what I mean?” she grumbles, significantly irritated. 

Sergio exhales, still a little bewildered as they head back outside. “Quite,” he mutters. _“Quite.”_

________________________________

It had been Daniel’s idea to start playing some games, convincing his fiancé with utmost perseverance that everybody would have a ball in doing such. 

Eventually, Mónica had caved, asking the remaining guests if they would be willing participants in her _“other half’s nonsense”_ as she’d put it, and to her surprise, the majority of them were more than up for it. 

Of course, Sergio was one of the more reluctant guests, but the others had vowed to change his mind by the end of the evening, something he wasn’t entirely convinced would happen.

Ágata had taken it upon herself to come forward with a few suggestions - one of which she called _‘Who’s Most Likely To…?’_ \- explaining the rules to anyone who would listen like some kind of renowned game show host. 

“The concept is simple,” she’d clarified, standing amidst everyone in the center of the living room, “two people stand back to back in the middle, and everybody around them proposes a question starting with _‘who’s most likely to?’ -_ So, for example, ‘who is most likely to...to get arrested!’, or…`who is most likely to, _I don’t know_ , cry at a sad movie... _sí?”_

There was a momentary pause as people nodded in comprehension, signalling for Ágata to carry on. 

“If you think that _you’re_ most likely to do that thing, you drink. If you think _the other person_ is most likely to do it, you _don’t_ drink _._ Obviously, the pair that achieves the highest number of matching answers is the pair that wins,” she’d shrugged, “piece of cake!” 

Given that it was their flat-warming, Mónica and Daniel had been first up, scoring a promising ten out of the fourteen questions that were put to them. The things they were asked weren’t particularly groundbreaking, probably because everybody was just getting used to the game, but as time went on, any respect for boundaries went well and truly out of the window, something particularly evident when it came to Raquel’s turn. 

“Who’s most likely to…” Mirko pauses momentarily, thinking on his feet as a wicked smile creeps upon his face, “cheat with their partner’s friend?” 

“Raquel doesn’t _have_ a partner to cheat on,” Alicia announces matter-of-factly, eliciting an incredulous scoff from the woman behind her. 

“Remind me why I’m paired up with you, again?” Raquel retorts.

“Because, my husband is an _asshole_ and he hasn’t showed up yet,” Alicia remarks, knocking back a gulp of her drink. “For that reason, _I’m_ most likely to cheat on him with his friend.” She shakes her cup in the air, signalling to the room that it’s empty. “I need a top up.” 

“Okay,” Ágata draws out, her eyes scanning the room and landing on Sergio. “Marquina, you’re up!” 

“I am?” he asks feebly, nudging at his glasses with his finger and thumb, “aren’t we just going to wait for Alicia?” 

“She’s had enough of the spotlight, don’t you think?” Mónica groans, rubbing at her temples before shooting him a drunken, albeit encouraging, smile. _“C’mon,_ Sergio, you two probably know each other better than anyone in this room!” 

“I just, uh...games aren’t really my thing,” he tries to explain, stumbling over his words slightly. 

“But, you love chess!” Ágata exclaims, flinging her arms out to the side. 

Sergio frowns. _“And?”_

“Well, chess is a game,” Ágata deadpans, “now get up, _vamos!”_

“Really, I—” 

_“Hey,”_ a voice sounds from the doorway. It’s Alicia, chewing on a cocktail stick that she’d stolen from the punch, the little, decorative umbrella spinning between her fingers as she speaks. “If he doesn’t want to do it, he _doesn’t want to do it,”_ she announces, leaning against the doorframe and folding her arms across her chest, “Suárez will play, won’t you, honey?” 

Suárez laughs, shaking his head as he gets to his feet, holding his hands up in surrender. “Fine,” he mumbles, narrowing his eyes at his sister-in-law, _“fine.”_

“We don’t know each other well enough for this,” Raquel despairs, but she’s laughing all the same, blushing a little as Suárez beams at her. 

“Yet,” he remarks, putting his back to hers with a drink in his hand, _“yet.”_

Sergio gives his friend a small smile, trying to feign contentment that she has somebody else to enjoy the game with. He knows it’s his own fault, being so concerned with what others think, so socially inept and overly cautious, but for all that he wants to tell Suárez to sit down, to assure the other man that he is _more_ than capable of playing the game, he _can’t_ now _._

It’d be far too suspicious to change his mind all of a sudden, putting himself in a position in which he’d be under scrutiny, in which he’d be the center of attention, _just_ to save himself watching Raquel laughing and joking with another man. 

Besides, Sergio had noticed throughout the day that she was enjoying Suárez’s company, and he had been enjoying hers _just_ as much, if not more. 

Earlier, whilst Alicia had been grilling him further about his job, his family, his very _existence,_ Suárez had made several attempts to engage in separate conversation with Raquel, taking great interest in anything and everything about her - particularly whether or not she was single. 

Of course, it hadn’t taken him long to find out, what with Alicia making her usual remarks every now and again, and he seemed to be pleasantly surprised to hear that Sergio and Raquel were _not,_ in fact, an item. 

“So, _Professor,”_ Alicia had said, very much in the habit of calling him that from the offset, “what’s your luck like with the ladies, then? It can’t be any worse than _hers_ is with the men.”

Suárez had cocked his brow, his gaze alternating between both Sergio and Raquel. “You two aren’t together then, no?” he’d asked her, feigning nonchalance. 

“No,” Raquel had said, recovering from her rolling of the eyes at Alicia’s derogatory remark, “no, no, we’re just friends.” 

And, sure enough, from then on, Suárez had taken even _more_ interest in whatever it was she had to say, and the two seemed to be getting on pretty well from where Sergio was sitting. Granted, Raquel had always been far more confident in social situations than he was, and her friendly demeanour and excellent conversational skills were present throughout her interactions with _anyone,_ not just this Suárez guy. 

But, perhaps it _was_ the case that Raquel had genuinely enjoyed his company today. 

Perhaps she _had_ enjoyed the attention from someone who wasn’t her best friend of six years. 

That’s why, alongside the fact that he didn’t feel up to having several sets of eyes on him as he faced interrogation about his relationship with Raquel, Sergio felt it was best to let her play the game with Suárez, instead. 

She seemed content enough, after all, and that’s what mattered to him. 

“I’ve thought of a question,” Alicia whispers, startling Sergio out of his inner monologue as she takes a seat beside him, sitting uncomfortably and _unnecessarily_ close. “Who’s most likely to _fall in love_ _with a friend?”_

Sergio frowns, clearing his throat quietly as Daniel fires the next question at Raquel and Suárez. “That’s, uh...that’s an interesting one,” he mutters back, semi-obliviously, “why don’t you ask?”

Alicia clicks her tongue, observing the two individuals in the center of the room. “Who do you think, huh?” she says, her voice barely surpassing a whisper, “Suárez...Raquel…” she turns to look at him, now, “she doesn’t strike me as the type.”

He feels himself getting a little flustered, confused as to what the redhead is implying as he takes a sip of his drink. “Probably not, no,” he replies, trying to maintain focus on the game folding out before them. 

Alicia nods thoughtfully, placing her beverage on the floor beside her and clasping her newly-freed hands together. “And, what about you?” she asks, narrowing her eyes at him.

Sergio nudges his glasses back up his nose, still not making eye-contact with her. “What about me?” 

Alicia smirks. “Are _you_ the type to fall in love with a friend?” 

He hesitates, awkwardly, not entirely sure how to proceed with the conversation. How to _end_ the conversation, come to think of it. “I mean,” Sergio starts, putting his own drink down and forcing out a chuckle, “I-I guess that just...that depends on the friend.”

“Right,” Alicia nods, but her expression tells him that she’s not at all convinced. “Well, let’s talk _hypothetically,_ then,” she draws out, pausing for dramatic effect. “Let’s say...let’s say this friend is Raquel, _sí?”_

Sergio shifts uncomfortably in his seat, swallowing thickly. _“Sí,”_ he mumbles. 

“Are you the type to fall in love with a friend _then?”_ Alicia asks, talking directly into his ear now. 

“Well,” Sergio begins, pushing his glasses back up his nose, “a-as much as I think she’s...she’s _wonderful_ , our relationship just…” he wavers, looking ahead as Raquel shoots him a look that says _‘is she bothering you?’_ He holds up a subtle hand to dismiss her concern, finally mustering up the courage to look at the woman beside him. “It just isn’t like that.” 

Alicia cocks her brow. “No?” she mouths, rolling her eyes at him when he shakes his head, feebly. “Oh _come on._ Don’t treat me like one of the idiots that you teach, honey, I was _not_ born yesterday.” 

“I don’t follow,” Sergio lies, eliciting a sigh from Alicia. 

“I’ve seen the way you look at her, Sergio. I saw your face when I sent Suárez up there instead of you.” 

Sergio swallows hard, suddenly paranoid. “I didn’t do anything,” he defends. 

“No, no, no, you don’t _think_ you did anything,” Alicia mutters, knowingly, “there’s a difference.” She reaches for her drink again, bringing the glass to her lips with a pensive expression. “You had this _look_ on your face,” she juts out her lip, theatrically, “like a...a puppy that had just been _kicked.”_

“I-I think you’re confusing things,” Sergio says, furrowing his brow as he lets out a disbelieving laugh, “there wasn’t...I really didn’t _do_ anything.” 

“Maybe not,” Alicia shrugs in defeat, taking another swig of her drink, “maybe I misread things.” 

Sergio lets out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding, opening his mouth to respond with a simple _‘you did’,_ but Alicia cuts him off again before he seizes the chance. 

“Except, I don’t think I did,” she points out. “I’m very rarely wrong about these kinds of things.” She watches her brother-in-law laugh in sync with Raquel as Ágata proposes a question to them - something about who was most likely to have sex in a public place. “I wasn’t wrong about Suárez being interested in her.” 

Sergio feels his heart sink, although he can’t say he’s all that surprised, really, regardless of how difficult it is to hear it aloud. His mouth dries up a little as he turns to look at Alicia. “He is?” he asks, trying to come off casual. 

“There’s that look again,” Alicia points out, waving her finger in his face. 

“What _look?”_

“Oh, Sergio,” she says sympathetically, completely ignoring his defences, “Sergio, Sergio, _Sergio._ You’re a smart guy, really, _you are,”_ she places a hand against her chest, earnestly, “but you’re talking to a _very_ smart woman.” 

He blinks rapidly at her, nothing short of speechless and entirely unsure as to what she’s expecting of him. What was he supposed to do? Was he _really_ that obvious? And, if he was, how come Raquel was so oblivious to it? 

“I’ve known Suárez for a very long time now, and he’s not exactly shy when it comes to women,” Alicia continues, forcing Sergio to tune in, again. “If he gets her number today, he will make his move,” she holds her hands up in surrender, her glass of wine hovering mid-air, “I just wanted to make you aware.” 

Sergio readjusts his glasses. “Well, _thanks,_ but…” he swallows, his throat likening sandpaper, “I really didn’t need the heads up.” 

Alicia nods. “Okay.” 

“We’re just friends.” 

“Okay.” 

_“What?”_

Alicia frowns innocently, but she _knows_. “Nothing,” she shrugs. 

They fall into a thoughtful silence after this, although it’s regularly interrupted by the fun and games going on around them, collective uproar taking place every time someone asks a question even _more_ inappropriate than the last. Fortunately for Sergio, Alicia doesn’t say anything more on the matter, leaving him alone with his thoughts as she announces her need to attend the ladies room. 

By the time she gets back, Sergio’s space on the sofa is empty. 

________________________________

It’s getting dark out now, the sun having dipped beyond the skyline, spilling bursts of blood orange and pastel pink across the clouds in the wake of its departure. 

Sergio has always been a fan of the sky, particularly on an evening, and it’s often his routine to take a walk between the hours of 7 and 9PM, appreciating the tranquility that comes with dusk. 

That’s why, when Raquel decides to go looking for him, she isn’t all that surprised to find him outside, his back to the french doors as he leans against the balcony, his posture slightly hunched over as he rests his body weight onto his arms. 

Sergio feels her presence first, two hands landing gingerly on his shoulders before she slots beside him. “Hey,” she says. 

“Hi,” Sergio replies, turning to look at her with a small smile, falling into silence immediately after. _Why did he feel so on edge?_ “I, uh...I needed some air,” he points out hesitantly, stating the obvious. 

Raquel nods in understanding. “A conversation with Alicia tends to have that effect,” she teases, and Sergio laughs agreeably, readjusting his glasses as he does so. 

“You’re not wrong,” he says, looking back out towards the views. “Did you enjoy the game?” 

“I did, yes,” Raquel smiles, resting against the balcony in a similar fashion to him. “Although, I was right about Suárez,” she adds, pausing thoughtfully, “we really didn’t know each other well enough to play.” 

Sergio shrugs. “Well, at least you know each other a little better now, I guess.” 

_“Please,”_ Raquel scoffs, “the only thing I _know_ is that he thinks I’m more likely to _do it_ in a public place than he is.” 

“Exactly. That’s bonding,” Sergio grins, and she shoves him playfully in the shoulder, allowing that same silence to envelope them shortly after. “You’ve been getting on well, though,” he adds, voicing his observation as nonchalantly as possible. 

Raquel looks over at him, her brow furrowed. “Who?” she asks. 

“You and Suárez,” Sergio says, lifting his clasped hands up to his nose and scratching there with his thumb. “You seem to have, uh...hit it off?” he pulls a face, “is that the phrase?” 

“That’s the phrase,” Raquel nods promptly, her lips turning up-over into a smile. She averts her gaze back to the views ahead, her hands fidgeting as she says, “he’s, uh...he’s nice.” 

“He seems it,” Sergio says, nodding briefly. 

Raquel’s expression is hesitant. “I got his number, anyway, so…” she clears her throat, “we’ll see.” 

Sergio looks at her, his eyes as sincere as ever. “That’s good,” he says. 

They’ve had conversations like this before - Raquel disclosing snippets of information about a guy, Sergio having to lure more details out of her with question after question - but it never usually harbours this underlying discomfort. The elephant in the room feels protrusive and heavy, and it’s something that Sergio is used to bearing on his own. 

He’s used to pining over Raquel in secret - telling her to _go for it,_ but wishing that she wouldn’t; asking her to show him what the guy looks like, only to pick himself apart in contrast. 

It’s a burden that Sergio has carried for years now, but this time it feels different. 

This time, the burden comes with three weeks of having been as close to Raquel as two people can possibly be. It comes with a taste of what it would be like for Sergio to _be_ the guy that she goes for. 

To _be_ the guy in the photograph that she shows fondly to others. 

Encouraging her to pursue her interest elsewhere had always been difficult, but the kind of difficult that he was immune to. 

Immune to until _now,_ it seemed. 

“What was Alicia talking to you about?” Raquel asks suddenly, catching Sergio off guard.

“Huh?” 

“Alicia,” she reiterates, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, “you two were talking during the game.” 

Sergio’s nod is brief and dismissive. “We were,” he says, brushing it off.

“Seemed pretty secretive,” Raquel accuses, cocking her brow with a smirk, but Sergio just looks back at her with an awkward expression. 

“I’m afraid you’ve misinterpreted the situation,” he points out, nudging at his glasses. 

“Oh, I have?” 

“Yes,” Sergio mumbles, “you have.” 

Raquel glares at him, suspiciously. “Well, what was it about then?” 

“You really want to know?” Sergio exhales with a roll of the eyes, but the brunette just nods with bouts of enthusiasm. 

“I do.” 

_“Bueno,”_ Sergio mumbles under his breath, turning to face her. He rests one side of his body against the balcony, holding himself up with his elbow. “Shewas telling me that she thought Suárez was interested in you.” 

Raquel’s mouth falls agape, and she cocks her brow, incredulously. “Seriously?” 

“God’s honest truth,” Sergio says, and it **is**. _Kind of._

_“Jesus,”_ Raquel tuts, but she starts to laugh, nonetheless. “That woman just _cannot_ help getting involved, can she?” 

“It seems not.” 

Raquel turns towards the French doors, now, resting her back against the balcony and folding her arms across her chest. “And, what did you say?” she asks, glancing over at Sergio. 

He holds his hands up in the air, feigning surrender with a teasing look on his face. “I told her that you and I were sleeping together,” he shrugs, failing to suppress a smile when Raquel grins at him in sheer amusement, “and that this _Suárez guy_ should join the back of the queue.” 

“Is that so?” Raquel asks in jest, and Sergio nods, curtly. 

“It is.”

“You’re a jerk,” she laughs, nudging into him as he turns to mirror her stance, resting his own back against the balcony, their shoulders almost touching.

It’s obvious, the way the topic at hand lingers heavy between them, and Sergio momentarily wishes that he’d never brought it up at all.

Because, all they have now is a question disguised as a ghost, unmoving, unspoken _._

_Does this mean we have to stop?_

Raquel runs a hand through her hair, gazing at the floor in thought. “It’s possible that he won’t even reach out,” she says, breaking their silence, “so he’s, uh...still at the back of the queue for now, don’t worry.” 

Sergio laughs, nodding bemusedly. “Good to know,” he chuckles, before his expression becomes sincere. “If he has any sense at all, he will.” 

She smiles up at him. “You’re sweet,” she murmurs, narrowing her eyes shortly after, “but you’re not getting rid of me that easy. I told you I’d tell you if I started seeing someone,” there’s a pause as she averts her gaze to the crowd of people inside, “and I haven’t started seeing _anyone_.” 

Sergio joins her in observing the party’s indoor crowd, his eyes settling on Suárezin particular. “Yet,” he points out, dressing up his misery with an optimistic tone. 

“You’re getting ahead of yourself,” Raquel remarks casually, stepping away from the balcony now, “but, you’ll be the first to know if I do.” She reaches out a hand, gesturing her head towards the french doors. “Are you coming back inside?” 

Sergio wants to refuse the offer, to let the fresh air circulate in his lungs in a bid to clear his head, but instead, he takes her hand and follows her lead back indoors. 

Because, there’ll come a time soon when all of his willpower and restraint will be required. From now on, it’s simply a waiting game as to when she’ll have to end _whatever it is_ that they have. 

For that reason, he’ll treat every time as the last time. 

_Just in case._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can we all come together to collectively hug Sergio and never let go??🥺🥺
> 
> I'm hopeful to be back by Wednesday with an update, but I'll keep you guys posted via twitter!
> 
> Keep streaming 'illicit affairs' for sad feels, and please let me know what you think!
> 
> You can find me on Twitter at @sergiosraquel 💓


	9. a dwindling, mercurial high

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, lovely readers!! 
> 
> The response to this story has just been _mind-blowing_ \- when I say I read over every chapter and *cringe* I really do mean it, so to think people are out there enjoying what I read, and getting invested in it?? I just can’t express what it means to me. It baffles me daily. Thank you, thank you, thank you♥️ 
> 
> On that note, I’ll leave you with chapter nine, hopeful (as always) that you guys enjoy this.

It’s been four weeks. 

Four _whole_ weeks since Mónica and Daniel’s flat-warming party, and Sergio is yet to hear any mention at all of Suárez. 

It isn’t that Raquel hasn’t heard from him, because Sergio has seen his name appear on her phone screen on several occasions ( _accidentally_ , may he add). It can’t even be that she’s not interested, because every now and again Sergio catches her smiling at her phone, sometimes even _blushing_ as she taps out a response.

All in all, it seems to be the case that Raquel simply hasn’t updated Sergio on the situation, and he honestly isn’t sure why.

Of course, he knows that he should probably take it upon himself to approach the subject in some way, wary of the fact that he could well be treading on somebody’s toes. 

But, the problem is, Sergio doesn’t know _how_ to approach it _,_ nor does he even _want_ to, really. 

If Raquel were to turn around and tell him that _yes,_ her and Suárez had been enjoying getting to know one another, Sergio would have to take a step back, more for his own sanity than anything else. After all, what would be the point in prolonging the inevitable - Raquel telling him that she was officially seeing Suárez, and that herself and Sergio would have to go back to being friends _without_ the benefits? 

That’s why he’d played it blind so far, opting to plead completely ignorant until Raquel finally decided to tell him otherwise. 

Except, to this day, she _hasn’t._

And, they’re _still_ sleeping together. 

“Can I get you anything?” he asks her, running a hand through his hair as he potters through to the kitchen of his apartment.

“A drink would be good,” Raquel smiles, adjusting herself on the sofa and feeling around for her phone, “just water, though.” 

Sergio nods, grabbing a glass out of the cupboard and trying his level best to ignore the fact that Raquel could well be responding to a message from Suárez right now, _minutes_ after having sex with Sergio. He struggles to understand the dynamic, but he’d sooner choose confusion over clarity if it meant avoiding the potential loss that the latter could bring him. 

He heads back into the living area with her drink, sitting beside Raquel as she shuffles over to make room for him. It’s a somewhat domesticated setting, he thinks - Raquel in nothing but her underwear and one of Sergio’s t-shirts (something he’d given her after she spilled takeout curry down her own top), and Sergio in nothing but his sweatpants, having reached a whole new level of comfortable with his best friend, now. 

“Shall we watch a movie?” Raquel asks, tossing her phone aside somewhat abruptly and letting it land between them, “I don’t think there’s anything on TV worth watching.” 

Sergio throws her an apologetic look, lifting himself up to pull the remote from beneath him. “My DVD player is broken,” he says, switching on the television. 

_“Still?”_ Raquel groans, “you’ve been getting it fixed for weeks, now.”

“And _you’ve_ been telling me not to bother, remember?” he argues, looking over at her. _“Everything is online now, Sergio,_ you said! _You don’t need discs to watch films.”_

Raquel giggles at his poor impression of her, holding her hands up in defeat. “Fine,” she grumbles, “but, don’t listen to me in future.” 

Sergio laughs at that. “I’ve spent six years listening to you,” he says with sincerity, handing the remote over, “I’m not going to stop now.”

She accepts the remote with a grateful smile, starting to flick mindlessly through the channels. A comfortable silence envelopes them, only interrupted every now and again by Raquel as she huffs at the lack of choice available. “Remember when Saturday night TV used to be good?” she muses.

“I don’t, no,” Sergio replies nonchalantly, gazing at her, “I’ve never really been the television type _.”_

Raquel rolls her eyes, but she flashes him a fond smile, nonetheless. “Of course,” she says, her tone teasing, “who needs serial dramas and trashy talent shows when you could be making origami... _horses,_ right?” 

“Birds,” Sergio mutters defensively, looking towards the bookcase that holds some of his paper creations, “they’re origami _birds.”_

“Sorry,” Raquel smiles, opting to turn the TV off. She gets up from the sofa, putting her glass of water on the floor and walking over to the bookcase, picking up a red figure with her finger and thumb. “This is a bird?” she asks, confused. 

Sergio shakes his head with a smile. “No,” he chuckles, walking to meet her and taking the origami out of her hand, “this is a boat.” 

“A boat?” 

“Yes, a boat.” 

She frowns, snatching it back off him with care and inspecting it, closely. As she moves it around in her fingers, a smile breaks out onto her face. “I love it,” she murmurs, looking up at Sergio with a thoughtful expression. “Are they easy to make?” 

Sergio nods. “Fairly easy, yes,” he explains, nudging his glasses back up his nose, “much easier than some of the birds, for sure.” 

The intrigue is evident in Raquel's eyes as she smiles at him. “Can you show me?” she asks, her tone as hopeful as it is curious. 

“Wh— _really?”_ Sergio frowns, searching her expression for a sign that she is, in fact, just teasing him. He comes up short, though, Raquel just nodding promptly in return. 

“Mmhm,” she hums agreeably, shrugging her shoulders. “There’s nothing on the TV, anyway.”

Sergio scratches at his brow, awkwardly. “I mean, I... _sure,_ ” he says, stumbling over his words a little. “Sure, i-if you want me to.” 

“I do,” Raquel replies instantly, a smile present in her brown eyes. “Besides, it’s about time I found myself a hobby that doesn’t revolve around red wine and _headaches_.”

_“Vale,”_ Sergio mutters, helpless to do anything but smile at her. “I’ll, uh...I’ll go and get some paper, then.”

________________________________

Raquel’s face is the picture of concentration, her tongue poking out slightly as she folds one of the creases in place. “Am I doing this right?” she asks cautiously, peeking over at Sergio’s to compare the two. 

Sergio tips his glasses to the edge of his nose, peering over the top of them at Raquel’s half-complete creation. “Looks good to me,” he says, offering her a reassuring smile. 

Raquel huffs. “But, yours looks different to mine,” she points out, placing hers next to Sergio’s in order for him to observe such. 

They’re sitting opposite one another on the floor of the living room, Sergio with his legs stretched out in front of him as he rests his back against the sofa, and Raquel before him with her legs neatly crossed, slouching over her small artwork as she tries to perfect each fold. 

“You’ve folded this side too far,” Sergio says casually, picking up her paper and undoing some of the work, adjusting one of the folded corners, “you’ll have an extra crease in yours now, so don’t get confused.” 

Raquel exhales, loudly. “I’m already confused,” she says, taking her origami back off him. A small smile appears on her face as she observes it, “although, this looks a little more like yours now.” 

“Really?” Sergio stops what he’s doing, raising his brow at her, “you’d think that was my intention.” 

Raquel shoves his leg, funningly. _“¡Jódete!”_ she curses, but she shoots him a warm smile, getting to her feet as she does so. “I think I want coffee.”

“You want me to make you one?” Sergio asks earnestly, readjusting his glasses.

Shaking her head, Raquel crouches beside him, supporting herself by resting her hand on his shoulder. “I know where everything is,” she says, “do you want one?” 

Sergio turns his face to look at her, becoming acutely aware of _just_ how close they are. She looks incredibly natural, incredibly _beautiful,_ and he feels a sudden urge to reach out and touch her, almost like telling her in the only way he knows he can.

Without engaging too much thought, he threads some of her hair between his finger and thumb, pushing it behind her ear as his gaze alternates between her eyes and her lips. They’ve kissed so many times before, heated and rushed as a means of communicating their needs to one another, Raquel often being the instigator. 

Sergio tended to fear that anymove _he_ made would communicate something different, something _more,_ and so he often held back, waiting to be led into a moment on Raquel’s terms. 

But, right now, it feels nigh on impossible to hold back, almost as though the pull is gravitational, as though the need is a matter of _survival_. He’s well aware of the fact that they’ve already slept together this evening, and doing so twice in one night isn’t something they’ve encountered, yet. 

Come to think of it, isit even territory that they’re allowed to cross?

Because, at what point does needing _something_ turn into needing _someone?_ Isn’t it glaringly obvious that Sergio’s _needs_ as a man don’t require _seeing to_ twice within the space of an hour? Doesn’t it become painfully clear that sex isn’t the high he’s chasing, it’s _her?_

_Maybe,_ Sergio thinks. _Maybe that will become obvious._ But, he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll have this privilege - being able to kiss her without an explanation. Being able to disguise his desire for _her_ as a simple, animalistic desire for sex, instead. 

That’s why he decides to close the small gap between them, kissing her gently at first, then deepening it with intent that seems to take Raquel aback at first. Still, she opens her mouth willingly, granting access to his tongue as she laughs a little into the kiss, and Sergio pulls back slightly with a frown. 

“I’ll take that as a no?” Raquel muses suggestively, her gaze searching his confused expression.

“What?” Sergio mumbles, already a little breathless from their kiss.

Raquel cocks her brow at him, shrugging with a mock innocence. “To the coffee?” she asks, feigning nonchalance.

“Oh,” Sergio mouths, running the tip of his tongue across his lower lip. “Yeah, it’s a _no.”_

At that, Raquel wastes no time in kissing him again, feeling Sergio’s hands on her as he pushes her lightly, taking advantage of the way that she's crouching. She falls back into a seated position, resting against the sofa as Sergio shifts from beside her, placing his legs either side of her own as he straddles her.

The hands that once resided in Raquel’s hair embark on a journey across her shoulders, then down to her waist, eventually pushing beneath the material of the t-shirt that she’s wearing, helping her out as she pulls it over her head.

Tossing it away quickly, Raquel offers little objection to the way Sergio’s mouth starts to travel down her neck, marking each stretch of exposed skin with a delicate kiss, his fingertips dancing across her breasts he does so. 

She groans lightly at the feeling of his nails grazing against her skin, arching her back desperately in a bid to get even closer to his touch. 

Taking notice of the way she does so, Sergio lets his hands travel lower and lower, grazing the backs of his fingers across her ribs and smirking at the way she tries to push her hips upwards in response.

It’s confirmation enough that she wants more, but Sergio’s mouth stops in its tracks regardless, his lips pulling away from just below her collar bone as he looks at her with sincerity and hunger of equal measure. 

“Can I try something?” he asks, his voice coming out hoarse. 

“Sí, _sí,”_ Raquel responds hurriedly, her hand finding the nape of his neck as she tries to pull him back in for a kiss. 

Sergio does his best to resist, holding his face mere centimetres from hers. “Are you sure?” he asks cautiously, “because I've never done it before, a-and I…” 

_I only ever wanted to do it with someone I really cared about,_ Sergio thinks. _Someone I felt comfortable giving my all to._

“...I’ve never done it before,” he repeats, silencing his own thoughts with an unsteady sigh. He nudges at his glasses with his finger and thumb, feeling the light blush that starts to disperse across his cheeks. “I-I want to, though.”

Raquel’s face softens, her thumb brushing lightly at the nape of Sergio’s neck as she pulls him in even closer, their noses very nearly touching as she says: “Sergio, you can do whatever you want with me.” 

It’s almost as though the words leave her mouth before she engages any thought, or at least that’s what her expression communicates as she swallows thickly, clearing her throat before Sergio gets the chance to respond. “That’s the whole point of what we’re doing, no?” she adds half-heartedly, a brief smile appearing on her face, “to help each other feel good?” 

Sergio can feel himself blinking rapidly at her, completely taken aback by the words that just left Raquel’s mouth. Of course, on a shallow level, it sends a rush of arousal straight to his groin, enamoured by the fact that she’d offered herself over to him like that.

_You can do whatever you want with me._

If someone had told him six months ago that he’d be witness to her saying _anything_ of the sort, Sergio would have laughed it off as a pipe dream; a fantasy that he’d had many-a-time, often followed by the consequence of guilt for letting his mind drift to such a place. 

But, more than anything, Sergio just felt the way his heart sank as quickly as it had sped up, refusing to fool himself into thinking that Raquel meant anything more than what she’d just clarified. He can do whatever he wants with her becausethey’re friends, testing out all of the benefits. 

He can do whatever he wants with her because there are no nerves on her part, no concerns with boundaries or fear of fucking things up. Why would it matter when it’s just sex? Why would it matter when it’s just _Sergio?_

“Of course,” he mutters quietly, clarifying such with a nod. “Well just, uh...just tell me if I do anything that you don’t like, okay?” 

Raquel smiles, and her expression looks a lot like relief as Sergio opts not to push for any further explanation. Still, he tries not to dwell too much on what was _probably_ another misinterpretation on his part, kissing the confusion off of her face, and consequently out of his head. 

His lips revisit their prior journey as he moves them gradually down Raquel’s body, mouthing at her neck, breasts, stomach, _hips,_ using his teeth to assist his hands as he starts to remove her underwear. 

She gasps at the sudden exposure, her eyelids fluttering closed as Sergio pulls the white fabric down to her ankles, placing chaste kisses along the inside of one of her thighs as he does so. 

Raquel’s legs seem to open involuntarily in response, the carpet soft against her skin as she readjusts herself, letting her elbows take most of the weight as she leans back. 

Sergio looks up at her, his pupils dilated with lust as he removes his glasses and discards them to the side. He hooks his hands beneath her thighs, squeezing gently at the bare flesh as he takes his tongue on a southern trail, starting just below her belly button and working its way down, his own arousal growing with every heavy breath that Raquel takes. 

He holds back momentarily, apprehensive despite his desperation as he tries to recall everything he knows about this - everything he’s read, everything he’s tried to learn. Leaning in slowly, he starts to mouth at her center, cautious and delicate, letting his tongue run experimentally over her clit with heightened attention to detail. 

Raquel lets out a guttural moan as he does so, lacing a hand through his hair as she tries to pull him even closer, not that it’s physically possible. “Do that again,” she says, her voice barely surpassing a whisper as Sergio’s breathing, steady and warm, sends an inebriant effect throughout her bloodstream.

Following her instruction, Sergio leans in with more confidence, closing his mouth around her and sucking gently, applying just enough pressure to elicit a gasp from Raquel, her hand starting to pull recklessly at his hair. He lets himself glance upwards, suppressing a furious blush when he realises Raquel’s gaze is already awaiting him. 

She doesn’t take her eyes off him, not until he starts to apply more pressure, circling the heat of his tongue around her clit and running a feather-light finger along her center, simultaneously. 

_“Please,”_ she groans, her eyes rolling into the back of her head as Sergio slips his finger inside of her, thrusting subtly against the floor in a bid to release some of his own tension. He adds another, _then another,_ fucking three fingers into her as he maintains the momentum with his mouth, intoxicated by the obscenity of how it feels as she pulsates against him, how she _tastes_ on his tongue. 

Raquel starts to gasp, and Sergio feels his head being tugged back, pulling away from her reluctantly as she asks him to stop.

“What’s wrong?” he frowns, but Raquel is quick to quieten his fears with a devout kiss, sitting up and tasting herself on fevered lips. 

“I don’t…” she starts, breathing heavily against his mouth, “I was close.” 

Sergio’s brow furrows, careful not to put too much distance between them. “That’s the whole point,” he whispers, searching her expression for answers as he runs a hand through her hair. He rests their foreheads together, choking out a small, disbelieving laugh. “That’s the whole point,” he repeats. 

Raquel shakes her head, wasting no further time as she hooks her hands into the waistband of his sweatpants, pushing them down with an unapologetic desperation. “I didn’t want to,” she breathes out, her eyes never leaving Sergio’s as he helps her in removing his underwear, shifting slightly and tossing the bundle of fabric aside, “not like that.”

She pulls him back over her again, allowing her elbows to take her weight for the second time as Sergio rests his hands on either side of her head, his mouth opening against Raquel’s as he pushes slowly inside of her. 

_“Fuck,”_ he grits out, adjusting to the feeling of being inside of her, the surreality of it never really wearing off. He looks at her with unmistakable desire, brown eyes meeting his own as he searches her flushed expression for answers.“I-is this what you wanted?” he asks, setting a sensuous pace as he starts to roll his hips. 

Raquel nods briefly, the sensation almost too much for her to bear given how close she already was, and then she brings a hand up to the back of his neck, pulling Sergio towards her and pressing their lips together, kissing him. 

_She’s kissing him._

Sergio is a little unresponsive at first, taken under by a wave of sensory overload as he feels both the overwhelming heat between his legs and the sensation of her mouth moving against his own. She’s moaning into the kiss, each one lost amidst his own sound as he pushes his tongue past her lips, drowning out his desperation to say something that he knows he’ll regret. Something that he knows he _can’t_ say. 

But, _god,_ that doesn’t mean he can’t feel it. 

He feels it every time he pushes into her, the heat of her walls sending a spark throughout his core, driving him towards the edge of insanity. 

He feels it as she holds his face in her hands, kissing him as though their very lives depend on it. 

He feels it as she says his name like some kind of fucking _prayer,_ falling from her lips as she comes around him, involuntarily contributing to Sergio’s electrifying high as he follows moments after. 

He loves her. 

He loves her so much that, _honestly_ , he isn’t entirely sure what to do with it, anymore. 

_“Mierda,_ Sergio,” Raquel mumbles when he finally pulls out, running the flats of her palms down her face in exasperation. As she sits up, she looks... _different,_ he thinks. Her expression is pensive and her body language is guarded, shuffling backwards to rest herself against the couch and pulling her legs towards her, wrapping her arms around them protectively. 

She doesn’t even bother getting _dressed_. 

Sergio tries to suppress a frown, reaching for his glasses and pushing them back onto his face, still flushed from the aftermath of his orgasm. He opts not to dress himself either, crawling to sit beside her and pulling his own legs up in a similar fashion. 

Their breathing is almost synchronised, in and out, _in and out,_ both waiting for the other to penetrate the silence. 

It’s Raquel who does so, eventually, resting her chin against her knees as she speaks softly, _carefully_. 

“I thought you wanted to try something,” she murmurs. 

Sergio turns his neck to look at her. “I did,” he replies. 

Raquel frowns at first, her gaze reflecting his own as she tries to figure out what he means, and the realisation crashes over her features in an eventual wave. “You’ve never gone down on a woman before?” she asks, and her tone is curious, not at all accusatory. 

“No,” Sergio mumbles, shaking his head as he looks away, “until now, anyway.” 

Raquel’s eyes burn into the side of his head as quiet falls upon them, her orbs a depiction of curiosity. “Did you enjoy it?” she asks, cautiously. 

Sergio lets out a small laugh, his forehead resting momentarily against his knee. He lifts his gaze again, raising his brow at her. “The question is, did _you?”_

Raquel joins him in his laughter, shaking her head, bemusedly. “I think you know that I did,” she points out, nudging her shoulder against Sergio’s. “Thanks for letting me be your test run.” 

“Test run?” Sergio repeats, incredulously. 

“Yeah,” Raquel ponders, her gaze scanning the living room as she talks, smiling away to herself, “now you’re ready to use your new found skills in the _real world.”_

_“Claro, claro,”_ Sergio mumbles with a small laugh, but it’s relatively forced. Her choice of wording - _the real world -_ it feels a lot like denial that this has been their reality for the past two months. It feels a lot like saying they _were_ the practice run, and now it’s over. 

Silence encompasses them again, taunting and present, an empty backing track to Sergio’s never ending train of thought. 

He’d found it strange that she’d pulled him away, determined to reach her climax _with him._ He’d found it out of character that she’d kissed him whilst he was inside of her, something they’d seemingly avoided from the very minute they started _whatever_ this was. 

And, that look on her face when it was over - solemn and reflective, guarded and, well _, guilty_. 

Like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, it all came together. 

_“Raquel.”_

_“Sergio.”_

They both try to break the silence at once, speaking clumsily over the top of one another in doing so. 

Sergio clears his throat as Raquel murmurs an apology. He turns his face to look at her, offering a small, encouraging smile. 

“Sorry,” he says, “you first.” 

“Thanks,” Raquel mumbles back, taking a deep and unsteady breath as she prepares to say the _very_ thing that Sergio had been expecting for four weeks, now. 

_One whole month._

Suddenly, he wishes he’d asked the question sooner. He wishes he’d spoken up sooner. 

_Fuck,_ why hadn’t _she_ spoken up sooner?

“I’ve...I didn’t want to...” Raquel finally starts, stumbling over her words as she searches for his gaze. 

Somehow, Sergio musters up the strength to let her find it. 

“I’m seeing someone.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry🥺🥺 hahaha please be patient with Raquel, she’s just...difficult.
> 
> Your kudos and comments are always greatly appreciated, so, if you wish, please do let me know what you think!! 
> 
> I’ll be back as soon as I can with chapter 10, although right now I’m not sure when that will be. 
> 
> Stream ‘illicit affairs’ for the saddest feels, as I always instruct.
> 
> You can find me on Twitter at @sergiosraquel 💓


	10. like you don't even exist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone!! 
> 
> I fundamentally _cannot_ begin to get my head around the response to the last chapter. Like, _what_ is going on?! I do not deserve this love and interest from all of you, it is so very overwhelming and completely unexpected. 
> 
> I'm super sorry I haven't had the chance to reply to any comments on chapter 9, yet. Please do know that I have read every single one (again and again, may I add), but I figured I best put my effort into writing the next chapter instead of replying to you guys, haha! 
> 
> I love every single one of you who takes the time out to read this story! Please, if you wish, keep letting me know what you think<3
> 
> Sending all the love out there to you all<3

“I’m seeing someone.” 

Sergio feels his heart sink towards his stomach, the three words circling his head like vultures to their prey. He suddenly feels cold, _freezing_ even, wishing he had something to wrap around himself. 

Fuck _,_ two minutes ago, he had _someone._

He pulls his legs in a little closer, taking a deep breath and willing his voice to come out as calm and collected as possible. “Suárez?” he asks, forcing a small smile. 

Raquel nods, her gaze in line with the floor as she picks mindlessly at her fingernails. _“Suárez,”_ she mumbles back, looking up at Sergio as he starts to chuckle beside her. “What?” she asks, incredulously. 

Sergio cocks his brow, trying to make light of the situation. “Nothing,” he shrugs, shaking his head with a thoughtful expression. “It’s just... _well,”_ he scratches gently at his nose, “I called this at the flat warming, didn’t I?” 

“No,” Raquel scoffs, a smile playing at her lips. “Maybe,” she adds, reluctantly. 

Sergio nudges at his glasses with his finger and thumb, words losing their footing on the tip of his tongue as he tries to select them carefully. “I knew he’d like you,” he says solemnly, and he really does mean it, but Raquel just rolls her eyes at him. 

_“¡Cállate!”_ she laughs.

“I mean it.” 

_“Sergio—”_

“No, I did, Raquel,” Sergio discloses, earnestly, “I did.” He turns his face to look at her, swallowing back the lump that threatens to form in his throat when her eyes meet his own. “How could he not?” 

Raquel holds his gaze for a moment, her irises glistening with modesty and gratitude. With _love._

Just maybe not the right kind.

She rests her head against him, slotting it perfectly in the space between his shoulder and his neck, and Sergio nestles his own head against hers in return, the two of them gazing silently at the wall ahead. 

“Is it going well?” Sergio asks, but his voice is barely recognisable when he speaks. It’s hollow and hoarse, almost _empty,_ but Raquel doesn’t seem to notice. 

Either that, or she simply decides not to say.

“It’s fine,” she replies, her head still tucked into his neck as she pauses, “too early to tell, really.” 

Sergio nods feebly against her. “I guess,” he murmurs, almost inaudibly. “What have you done together?” 

Raquel pulls her head away as the words leave his mouth, the calm of her expression now faltering. She pushes a few strands of loose hair behind her ear, and Sergio watches the movement of her throat as she swallows, thickly. 

It feels as though he’s touched a nerve. 

“We haven’t…” Raquel starts cautiously, her eyes fixated ahead, “I mean, o-obviously we’ve done...we’ve done _some_ things, but…I haven’t...we haven’t…” 

It suddenly dawns on Sergio what she means, the realisation hitting him in the gut like a freight train - he doesn’t have the emotional capacity to even _contemplate_ that, right now. “No, no, no, I didn’t...that’s not...”

 _“¿Qué?”_ Raquel frowns, her face the picture of confusion. 

Sergio closes his eyes, inhaling steadily to ground himself. “I wasn’t talking about…” 

_“Oh.”_

“I just meant what you’d...what you’d _done,”_ he exhales, wishing the thought out of his head as quickly as it had entered, “i-in terms of, uh...in terms of spending time together?” He offers her a small, wavering smile, scratching awkwardly at his brow, “that kind of thing.” 

Letting out a breath that she didn’t even know she was holding, Raquel runs a hand down her face, the other wrapped tightly around her bare legs.“I’m sorry,” she stresses, releasing a quick and foolish laugh at her own mistake. “I’m sorry, Sergio, I’m _so sorry._ I just thought you meant... _”_

“No,” he smiles. 

“I’m an _idiot_.”

Sergio shakes his head, shrugging as he averts his attention to the floor. “I should’ve worded it better,” he murmurs, taken under by the uneasy silence that follows. 

He observes Raquel’s form, watching as she rests her hands upon her knees, digging her left thumb into her right palm. She seems tense and heavy, anchored by things that she wants to say, but Sergio chooses not to push it, opting to dress himself, instead. 

He reaches across the floor for the bundle of fabric nearby, untangling his boxer shorts from his sweatpants and pulling them on as deftly as possible. His eyes scan the room for his t-shirt, spotting it by Raquel’s side in a discarded heap from earlier in the evening. 

“Could you, uh...could you pass my shirt, please?” 

Raquel turns her head to face him, her eyes likening a deer in the headlights. “What?” she asks, dazed. 

“My t-shirt,” Sergio says softly, readjusting his glasses, “i-it’s just to your right, there.” 

“Oh,” Raquel mouths, turning to pick up the t-shirt for him and passing it over, her lips up turned slightly, “here you go.” 

Sergio reflects her small smile. “Thanks,” he mumbles. 

“I should...I should probably get dressed myself,” Raquel laughs, but it feels contrived and weighted, her movements rushed and uneasy as she gets to her feet, scouring the room for her own clothes. 

“You can put this on again,” Sergio offers quietly, handing her the t-shirt she’d been wearing from his wardrobe. 

The one they’d rid her of earlier, _together._

He swallows hard, using the sofa to push himself up as he clambers to his feet. “I can, uh...I can get it back from you when I…” 

_When he next sees her? He didn’t even know when that would be._

“I can get it back whenever,” he settles for, “no rush.” 

Raquel seems to sense his hesitance, taking the t-shirt from him with one hand, but using her other to touch his arm, tentatively. She’s still entirely undressed, and Sergio _curses_ the way that it makes him feel. The effect that it has on him, that _she_ has on him, standing before him like this - it’s something he’d grown used to giving into. 

And, now he couldn’t. 

“You know this doesn’t change anything between us, right?” Raquel says sincerely, pulling him out of his train of thought. 

Sergio’s gaze alternates between her touch and her face. “Except the obvious,” he points out, meekly. 

“Well, _yes,”_ Raquel says, her hand staying put on his arm, “except _that.”_

Sergio nods, his lips forming a thin line as he grits his teeth together, trying to suppress the questions that would only hurt to ask. He wants to know why she’s saying something _now,_ and why she didn’t say anything sooner. He wants to know what Suárez has that he doesn’t, and if he could do anythingat all to make her feel about him the way he does about her. 

In the end, though, his heart loses to his head.

“Well, I’ve, uh...I’ve had a lot of fun, Raquel,” he settles for, nudging at his glasses uncomfortably as she starts to dress herself, suddenly feeling _very_ out of place. 

The brunette pulls her head through his t-shirt, flicking her hair out of the neckline. “Me too,” she says, smirking fondly at his awkward demeanour. She lifts her foot, nudging him lightly with it. “You’re a real catch, Marquina.” 

Sergio laughs dismissively, breaking their eye-contact. “Right,” he murmurs, crouching down to pick up his origami boat that had been abandoned in the middle of the floor. He turns to Raquel, holding it out to her in the palm of his hand. “Don’t forget this.”

Raquel frowns at him. “This is yours,” she points out, averting her attention to the other paper creation on the ground and nodding towards it, “that, uh, _monstrosity_ down there is mine, remember?” 

“Correct,” Sergio says, holding his hand out further, “but I can make another. You should have this one.” 

Raquel takes the paper boat carefully from his palm, inspecting it with an adoring smile. “Are you sure?” she asks, flattening it down as Sergio nods in return, slotting it into her back pocket. “I’ll keep practicing,” she promises, “until I can make you one back.” 

Sergio lifts a dismissive hand, but he’s smiling nonetheless. “There’s really no need,” he says, shaking his head to accompany the gesture, but Raquel just raises her brow at him, an insistent look on her face. “I look forward to it,” he caves. 

“Good,” she smiles back, holding their eye contact for a little while longer, almost as though she’s scared to break it. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” 

“I’ll see you soon,” Sergio agrees, although his tone is a lot more confident in the statement than he is. Seeing her will be different now - tainted and restricted, a whole new _normal_ to get used to all over again, and Sergio hates it. He _detests_ it. 

Because, before all of this, he’d pretty much accepted his position in Raquel’s life - her best friend and greatest confidante. Someone she could rely on to hype her up about the good dates, to _pick her up_ from the bad ones, and to help her decipher between the two. 

Sergio was the wallflower that loved her from a quiet distance, looking on as somebody else got to be with her in the way that he had always wanted to. 

But now, he’d had a taste of it. He’d experienced what it was like to _be_ the person that got to be with her, not just the man on the sidelines, and he didn’t ever want to give that up.

Of course, he _has_ to, and he will. 

For her he will - just to see her happy. 

_But, that doesn’t mean it won’t kill him all the while._

Sergio lingers slowly behind her, following as she heads towards the doorway with her car keys in hand. There’s further hesitation as she stops to put her shoes on, and he isn’t used to the evident quiet that joins them, the pair of them usually talking about anything and _everything_ until the very moment one of them leaves. 

The last time he felt thisawkward upon one of their respective departures was the night Raquel had suggested this whole thing in the _first place._

 _“We’re okay, aren’t we?”_ he’d asked her, sensing an air of discomfort. 

_“It’s us,”_ Raquel had reassured him, _“we’re always okay.”_

He’s sorely tempted to ask the very same tonight, anxious to hear those words from her again, but his better judgement kicks in before he does so, rather just opting for something courteous and routinely: 

“Will you let me know when you’re home safe?” 

Raquel’s lips turn up into a small smile. “Of course,” she says with an affirmative nod, her hand hovering over the door handle as though she’s contemplating saying something else. 

Sergio waits, letting out the breath he was involuntarily holding when she presses down on the handle, seemingly having decided against making any further comment. 

“Goodni-” 

“You know, you’re going to make somebody _so_ happy one day, Sergio,” Raquel interrupts, catching him entirely off guard. She’s still holding onto the handle, almost as though the words left her mouth before her body had the chance to catch up. 

Sergio clicks his tongue, looking away from her with a coy expression. “What?” he mumbles in jest, “in the _bedroom?”_ He nudges at his glasses with his finger and thumb as he says it, trying to play the situation down with a laugh. 

_“Claro, claro,”_ Raquel grins, but she lets go of the door handle as her expression falls genuine. “Just...just in every way,” she says, reaching for his hand and taking it in her own, “somebody is going to be very lucky to have you.” 

Sergio swallows hard, willing away the sharp, blade-like feeling in his throat. He knows that it isn’t her fault, not really, but that doesn’t lessen his frustration at all. In fact, it only increases it _tenfold._

“Thanks,” is all he manages, fearful of exposing the break in his voice. He hasn’t ever been one to cry, especially not in front of people, and he certainly doesn’t want to alter that tradition, now.

Raquel smiles kindly at him. “I mean it,” she says, giving his hand a light squeeze before letting it go. “Goodnight, Sergio.” 

“Goodnight,” Sergio replies, clenching his jaw in a bid to ground his emotions. “Remember to text me when you’re home safe.” 

“Don’t worry,” Raquel smiles at him with promise as she opens the door, “I will.” 

She heads off along the corridor of his apartment block, leaving Sergio to close the door behind her. He leaves the hinges to do the work, letting it fall closed naturally as he glances at the palm of his hand - opening it, closing it, opening it, _closing it,_ wishing hers was still there to hold. 

Only then does he let the first tear roll down his face.

_______________________________

As much as he hates to admit it, and even more so tries to _deny it,_ Sergio knows deep down that it’s the truth - he’s been avoiding Raquel this week.

Granted, it doesn’t come from a place of malice, nor a place of _wanting to,_ really, but it’s happening nonetheless; he knows it, his brother knows it, _shit,_ even his brother’s _friends_ are onto him. 

He just hopes to _God_ that he’s covered it up well enough to Raquel. 

When she called him on her lunch break on Tuesday to ask if he was free that night, Sergio had told her that he was up to his _neck_ in work, covering two Economics lectures the following day. 

The latter was true, don’t get him wrong, but had their circumstances been different, it _certainly_ wouldn’t have been enough to warrant him turning his best friend down. 

She’d asked again on Thursday, explaining that it was Laura’s birthday and the family were heading out for dinner together in the evening. “Paula would love you to come,” she’d expressed, “a-and so would I, to be honest.” 

Hearing that Raquel genuinely wanted him there, not to mention _Paula,_ made it incredibly difficult for him to refuse, but for his own sanity, Sergio just had to. He needed a little bit of time and space to come to terms with everything, to accept that they were friends again, now. 

_Just_ friends. 

And, yes, perhaps he’ll still be the one by her side at social gatherings, but Suárez will be the one to take her home. 

Perhaps he’ll still be the one to take care of Paula, but probably whilst Suárez is taking her _out._

Perhaps he’ll still be a lot of things, all except the one thing he so desperately wants to be. 

_Hers._

That’s why Sergio is sitting here now, nursing a whiskey neat in some bar in central Madrid, his ears burning as those around him discuss his love life as though he’s not even present. 

“Who is this _Raquel_ chick, anyway?” Silene asks, pulling a face as she takes a sip of her drink, “have you guys been dating for a while, or?”

“They haven’t dated at all,” Andrés corrects her with a dismissive wave of the hand, “my brother has just spent the best part of six years _pining_ over her.” 

“That is simply untrue,” Sergio interjects, adjusting his glasses, uncomfortably. 

Martín gapes at Sergio. “Six _years?”_

“Six years,” Andrés confirms beside him, eliciting a stern glare from his brother. 

“We’re just friends,” Sergio interjects, insistently. “Close friends, I admit, but friends nonetheless.” 

“Ah,” Silene muses, running the rim of her finger around her cocktail glass as she eyes him up, knowingly. _“Close_ friends.” 

Andrés nods in agreement, a smirk playing on his lips. “Exactly, my friend,” he says, pointing a finger at her to reinforce his agreement, _“exactly.”_

Martín’s eyes suddenly widen, as though the penny has finally dropped in front of him. “Wait,” he mumbles, resting his elbows onto the table as he leans towards Sergio, “you’ve been _fucking_ her?” 

“This is ridiculous,” Sergio mutters, refusing eye-contact. 

Andrés sighs. “I told you he was in denial,” he tuts, shaking his head at his younger brother, “he can’t even say the _word,_ can you?” 

“No judgement from my end,” Silene shrugs, sucking her cocktail at an obnoxious volume through a straw, “I’ve been fucking Aníbal for _years_ now,” she discloses. 

“Fucking him _around_ , more like,” Martín remarks, bluntly, “that kid is obsessed with you.” 

Silene pulls a face, flipping him off with her middle finger. “The point is,” she draws out, averting her attention back to Sergio, “I’m an advocate for all of this...this ‘ _friends with benefits’_ stuff,” she forms quotation marks with her fingers mid-air, “if that’s what you’re calling it.” 

“Can you really call it that, though?” Martín intervenes, his gaze alternating between Andrés and Silene, “I mean, those agreements tend to be mutual—”

Sergio looks up from the table with a frown. “It _was_ mutual,” he cuts in, eliciting a knowing smile from Martín. 

“So you _were_ fucking her?”

“Enough,” Sergio announces abruptly, nudging at his glasses with his finger and thumb and looking at his older brother with pleading eyes. “You said coming out with you tonight would take my mind off things,” he complains, his tone exasperated, “a-and no disrespect to your friends, but I-I’m feeling _quite_ the contrary, right now.” 

Andrés nods, entirely unphased, almost as though he’d anticipated this moment before Sergio had even said anything. He turns to Silene, gesturing his head towards her promptly, and she pulls her phone out of her jacket pocket in response to such. 

“I have a friend,” she says, her eyes set on the screen as she taps and scrolls to get to where she needs to be, “ _well,_ not really a friend, but…” 

“But, she’s nice, _no?”_ Andrés participates with encouragement, evoking Silene to hum in agreement. 

“A good looking woman, too,” she continues, confidently, “fairly talkative, average height, _very_ intelligent.”

Sergio frowns, not at all following the direction of the conversation. “Okay,” he mumbles, although it’s verbalised more as a question. 

“Her name is Lucía,” Silene follows on, her smile satisfied as she obviously finds what she was looking for on her mobile. “She’s the new supervisor in my department,” she adds, sliding her phone across the table to Sergio, “and she’s single.” 

Three pairs of eyes await Sergio’s reaction as his line of sight falls upon the facebook page before him; an attractive woman in her late thirties, he would guess, with brown-ombré hair layered just past her shoulders and a friendly, red-lipped smile. 

“Well?” Silene pryes, taking note of the way he barely gives her phone a second glance. 

“Well _what?”_

She sighs, impatiently. “Would you fuck her or _not?”_

The whiskey that resides in Sergio’s mouth very nearly ends up on the table as he chokes it down, his face flushing vividly as the words fall upon his ears. “I-I really don’t think that’s—” 

“What Silene is _trying_ to say is,” Andrés intervenes, shooting her a hugely disapproving glance before he faces his brother, again, “would you be open to getting to _know_ her?” 

Sergio blinks rapidly at his elder sibling, his tongue running along his top teeth as the reality of the situation sets in. “Look, I really appreciate you asking me to come here tonight, but I want no part in this...this _method of distraction,_ as you’d call it,” he states as politely as possible, grabbing his wallet off the table and slotting it into the inside pocket of his blazer. 

“Sergio—”

“I-I’m sure this...this _Lucía_ is a very nice woman, but…” he hesitates, inhaling and exhaling heavily. 

_But, I don’t want anybody else_. 

“I, uh...I think I’m just gonna go,” is what he says. 

Andrés gets to his feet, stepping out of their booth to level with Sergio. “You don’t have to do that, little brother.” 

Sergio offers him a small smile, turning to Silene and Martín and sharing it with them, too. “I appreciate the company,” he says, his tone earnest, “but, I-I really need some rest.” 

Feeling a hand on his elbow, Sergio averts his attention back to a frowning Andrés. “Consider it, at least.” 

Sergio’s face is vacant. “Consider what?” 

“Lucía,” Andrés confirms, quickly speaking again before the other man gets the chance to refuse it, “for _me?”_

“Please,” Sergio huffs, readjusting the glasses on his face, “please just...just _leave_ it. _”_

He can feel himself growing irritable, desperate to get away and handle his thoughts on his own, so he pulls his wallet out of his blazer again, pushing two euro bills onto the table - a twenty and a ten. “Have a drink on me, everyone,” he says, making eye-contact with his brother for a final time. “I’m sorry.” 

And then he leaves, the fresh air filling up his lungs and letting him breathe again. 

Sergio opts to walk home rather than flagging down a taxi, grateful for the welcome distraction of _people-watching_ as he navigates the streets. 

He observes a couple coming towards him, their arms interlinked as the gentleman lets out an affectionate laugh at something the woman says. She’s a lot smaller than him, both in height and frame, and it’s only as Sergio gets closer that he realises who it is. 

At this point, he’s simply too close to walk away. 

It’s the first time he’s seen her in seven days, and she looks beautiful - _incredibly_ so.

“Raquel,” he says, his senses coming alive at the sound of her name on his lips.

The hustle and bustle of the city fades to nothing. The man beside herfades to nothing.

All he sees, hears, and _feels_ is her. 

“Sergio,” she replies, her voice small, and the silence that follows his name feels unfulfilled.

“I was just...I was with Andrés,” he states awkwardly, over-explaining as a means of filling in the gaps, “he invited me out for a drink with his friends. Well, they’re not really _friends, per se..._ he, uh, he works with them.”

Raquel smiles. “I see,” she says, her eyes glistening fondly at him. “You can join us for a drink if you like,” she adds, her tone almost hopeful as she looks to Suárez for approval, “can’t he?” 

_“Claro, claro,”_ Suárez shrugs, motioning his head in agreement, “the more the merrier,” he says, but Sergio lifts his hand in a negative sign. 

Suárez doesn’t mean that, and Sergio knows it. Any man in hisright mindwouldn’t want to share Raquel’s company, especiallyon a _date_ , no less. 

“That’s very kind of you, but I…” he clears his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets, “I’m not feeling too well, to be honest, h-hence why I left, just now.” 

Raquel frowns, concern embedded into her features. “What’s wrong?” 

“Just exhausted, I think,” Sergio discloses. _Not a total lie._ “It’s been a long week at work.” 

“Of course,” Raquel says, her voice soft with understanding. “Well, I’ll just...I’ll call you, okay? Tomorrow, maybe. A-and we can catch up, soon.” 

Sergio swallows, trying to bury the resistant response within him when he hears the words leave her mouth. _Catch up._ It makes them sound like distant friends; two people coming together to discuss their completely _separate_ lives. 

The phrase eradicates what had only just come to an end for them, as though they _hadn’t_ spent the best part of two months getting to know one another on the closest level that two people possibly could. 

“Okay,” he agrees, offering her a small smile despite his internal monologue, “okay, great.” 

“Great,” Raquel echoes back. “I’ll see you soon.” 

The _very_ words she’d uttered to him a week ago, standing there in his apartment. Only, this time, Sergio doesn’t say it back, fearful of making a promise that he simply can’t keep, or even _worse_ , agreeing to a promise that _she_ can’t keep.

“Have a good night,” he says instead, holding her gaze as though Suárez isn’t even there. 

“Thanks,” Raquel replies, her lips turning up into a smile before she tugs on the arm linked with hers. “Vamos,” she mumbles as her eyes fall away from Sergio’s, the two of them departing in the direction of a bar. 

He thinks back to the night of Mónica and Daniel’s party - allowing her to take his hand and lead him inside. In that moment, he’d thought about the willpower and restraint that he’d need someday to be the one to walk _away_ from her, not the one to walk _with_ her. 

Today is that someday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! 
> 
> You'll be pleased (I think) to know that chapter 11 is going to be written entirely from Raquel's perspective, so we might start to understand what's going on in her head a little better. 
> 
> Stream ‘illicit affairs’ for super sad feels, as always!!
> 
> You can find me on Twitter at @sergiosraquel 💓


	11. I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, lovely readers!!! 
> 
> You all made me CRY with your response to the last chapter. Literally, there were tears. I came back online after posting it to such a huge reaction, something I never anticipated, and it just means the absolute world to me. (I'm also a massive softy which doesn't help, fml) 
> 
> Note that this chapter is titled with a lyric from the song 'cardigan' by Taylor Swift - I wanted a different song from folklore to represent the chapter being told from a different perspective! 
> 
> And, with that - let's get into Raquel's head, shall we?!

_It wasn’t often that Raquel found herself floored by a man. In fact, it wasn’t often that Raquel found herself floored by **anybody.**_

**__** _People let other people down. It was a constant. It was the way things had always been._

_That’s why, over time, Raquel had learned to live her life with little hope. Little expectation. She was under no illusion that any given individual on this planet could act in anything other than self-interest._

_Well, all until she met Sergio, anyway._

_Because, Sergio **did** floor her. He moved her. He baffled her beyond belief. And, despite having only known him for just over three months, he continued to do so, over and over again. _

_Of course, this wasn’t some miraculous fairytale in which Raquel had known from the moment she met him that he was different. He’d simply offered her his phone because the battery in hers had died. Nothing revolutionary - just a random act of kindness that, realistically speaking, was neither here nor there to her._

_But, over time, the more she got to know him, the more she started to let herself believe it - maybe someone really **could** have her best interests at heart._

_Her ex-husband would say that it was just typical Raquel - taking a liking to the first man that made her feel anything above average. He used to tell her regularly that she was delusional, always accusing her of daydreaming too much, romanticising the things that she couldn’t ever have. Things that weren’t meant for her._

_“Palawan?” Alberto scoffed once, turning his nose up at the photographs Raquel was showing him, “never even heard of it.”_

_“But, that’s the beauty of it,” she’d argued, hopefully, “it’s like a different world! Nothing but sand and sea for miles.” Placing both hands over her bump, she looked up at him, excitement present in her features. “Maybe we could take this one, someday.”_

_But rather than match her enthusiasm, Alberto had just rolled his eyes, shaking his head at her like a parent disciplining a child. “We’ve got bills to pay, Raquel. Jobs. Responsibilities. You can’t just galavant somewhere across the ocean with your newborn child because you think it looks pretty in the pictures,” he sighed. “Grow up.”_

_That’s why - sitting in front of Sergio now, having to tell him about Palawan for the first time - Raquel feels nervous. Guarded. Ready to laugh it off as some kind of childish pipe dream when he inevitably scoffs at her hapless naivety._

_His gaze alternates between the photographs on his lap and the woman beside him, sifting through each paper image that Raquel had presented to him. There’s a beat of silence after he takes a breath, and then he says:_

_“We should go.”_

_Raquel pulls her mug of coffee away from her lips, laughing gently. “It would be nice, wouldn’t it?” she muses, playing it down._

_“It would,” Sergio says, nudging at his glasses, “and that’s why we should go.”_

_Smiling fondly at him, Raquel feels completely enamoured by his optimism and kindness. “It’s very expensive,” she points out, cursing herself for the way Alberto’s mentality had embedded itself into her own, “and very far away.”_

_Sergio frowns at her. “So?” he shrugs, taking a sip of his own coffee. “The further away, the **better** , if you ask me.” _

_Raquel nods, agreeably - she couldn’t argue with that, after all. “It’s been my dream to go ever since I cut these photographs out of my grandmother’s ‘lonely planet’ book,” she confesses, eliciting a laugh from Sergio. “She wasn’t very impressed with me, but...well, I’ve kept them ever since.”_

_Sergio’s expression is pensive, analysing every detail of each photograph with great care. “I’ll take you one day,” he says solemnly, sliding the collection back across the table to Raquel. “Perhaps not any time soon, because my finances are...not at all cut out for such, let’s say.”_

_Raquel’s face breaks out into a broad smile, shaking her head at him fondly as he starts to talk about saving._

_“And once I have enough,” he concludes, pausing as he clasps his hands over the photographs, “vámonos.”_

_She rolls her eyes at him, the muscles in her cheeks aching a little as she struggles to recall the last time someone was **this** kind to her. “Really?” she asks, cocking her brow to provoke a break in his sincerity. _

_Sergio doesn’t budge, though, his eyes the picture of sincerity as he nods. “Really.”_

_Raquel just stares at him across the table, blinking rapidly in a bid to suppress any involuntarily well of emotion. She doesn’t know what she wants to do. She doesn’t know what it is that she **should** do. Take his hand in hers like she’s filming a scene for some kind of 90’s romance? Kiss him across the table like a smitten teenager, unafraid of public displays of affection? Or, run a mile and never look back, unwilling to let down the guard that she’s spent two gruelling years building?_

_“It’s a bit of a honeymoon destination, don’t you think?” she teases, holding the floor open for Sergio to flirt back. She doesn’t even know what it is that he’s feeling, after all._

_He blushes before her, his body language tense as he pushes his glasses back up his nose. “Well, I-I can’t help you with that bit,” he stutters, holding his hands up as a gesture of apology. “Holidays, I can do, b-but relationships are, uh...not my area of expertise.”_

_Raquel nods slowly. “You don’t see yourself settling down one day, no?”_

_“I can’t see that happening,” he answers honestly, a thoughtful expression on his face. He looks sad, Raquel thinks. Reflective. “Not to me, anyway.”_

_A certain tranquility encompasses them, both sipping from their respective mugs of coffee as they fall into their own pattern of thought._

_Maybe he didn’t see her like that, then. Maybe it’s her presumptuous and overactive mind coming into play again, just as Alberto had always said. She was overly sensitive. An idealist. A dreamer._

_“What about you?” Sergio asks, his voice soft as he interjects their silence. “How’s things with León?”_

_Raquel shrugs. “I ended it about a week ago,” she discloses, her demeanour unphased._

_“Oh.”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“Right,” Sergio mumbles, his brow furrowed. “A-are you okay?”_

_Raquel smiles as confirmation, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m fine, really,” she says, “It was my decision, anyway.”_

_“Of course,” replies Sergio, clearing his throat and fidgeting with the end of his tie. “Just not working out, no?”_

_She keeps her eyes down for a passing moment, mulling over the fact that she thought that maybe **they** had something. “No,” she says in the end, looking up as she does so, “I wasn’t feeling it.” _

_Sergio nods in understanding, his lips pressed lightly into a thin line. He looks somewhat uncomfortable, almost as though he’s been put on the spot with this new information, but Raquel can’t be sure. Never in her lifetime has she met anybody as difficult to read._

_He looks on as she starts to slot the photographs of Palawan back into her purse. “You never know,” he offers with a smile, nodding towards them, “maybe we can find the man of your dreams there.”_

_Raquel ceases her movement, looking up at him through her lashes. She holds his gaze momentarily, helpless to do anything but reflect his contented expression._

_“Maybe so,” she murmurs eventually, forcing herself to retreat back into the headspace of a friend. “Maybe so.”_

________________________________

Raquel folds her legs beneath herself on the sofa, lodging her phone between her shoulder and her ear as she tightens the tie of her dressing gown. 

The dial tone rings out as she picks at some toast, small mouthfuls at a time to try and combat the nausea that comes hand in hand with a _god-awful_ hangover. 

She’d drank far too much last night, suddenly unaware of her limits when someone else was buying the drinks _for_ her, it seemed. Still, not so much so that she’d forgotten her vow to call Sergio today, and given that she hadn’t seen him all week, it was very much a priority of hers. 

“Hello?” a voice sounds at the other end of the line, hoarse and thick with sleep. 

Raquel licks the excess crumbs from her fingers. “I’m so sorry, Sergio,” she says, “did I wake you?” 

“No, no, n-not at all,” he tries to reassure her, only to end up yawning mid-sentence. 

“You’re a terrible liar,” Raquel grins, “you know that, don’t you?” 

“I’m not lying! _Really_ , I-I’m getting ready to grab a coffee from Hanoi.”

Raquel groans involuntarily. “A coffee from Hanoi,” she draws out, staring pitifully at the glass of water on the table before her, “what I’d give right now for one of those.” 

The other end of the line goes quiet, and Raquel half expects Sergio to offer to bring her one. It’s the kind of thing he always does - the kind of selfless gesture that never fails to leave her questioning what she ever did to deserve him in the first place. 

Only, this time he doesn’t, but she tries not to dwell on it too much. 

“Are you feeling a little fragile?” he asks instead, and Raquel can hear the amusement in his voice. 

“Just a bit,” she grumbles back, “but in my defence, Suárez wouldn’t ever buy himself a drink without buying me a drink, too.” She exhales loudly, “turns out he drinks _a lot.”_

“Got it,” Sergio murmurs. “Did you have a good night, though?” 

Raquel pauses, keen to ignore the uneasy feeling she gets in the pit of her stomach when the question is asked. It’s not entirely unfamiliar to her, now - she’d felt like this on a couple of other occasions, vowing each time that it was something different: general anxiety, the fact she hadn’t eaten enough, lack of sleep, and on this occasion - just a symptom of a hangover. 

“It was fine,” she says nonchalantly, “what about you? Are you feeling any better?” 

“Hm?” 

“Last night,” Raquel explains, “you said you left because—” 

_“Oh sí, sí,”_ Sergio interrupts, suddenly understanding, “much better, thank you. Although, full recovery cannot be guaranteed until I get this coffee,” he adds, a small laugh echoing down the line.

“Understandable,” Raquel says, trying to hide the frown in her voice. _Was he trying to cut the conversation short?_ “Well, I’d hate to be the one stopping you,” she forces a laugh, “so, I’ll, uh...I’ll let you go.” 

“That’s very considerate of you,” Sergio says in jest, “but, we can still talk.” There’s a pause, and then, “u-unless you need to go, or?” 

Raquel’s lips turn up into a smile. “No, I don’t need to go,” she says, calmly. “Mama and Paula are still in bed, anyway, and…” 

_And I’ve missed you this week,_ she thinks, taking an unsteady breath to fill the space. Is that something she can even _say_ when she’s seeing someone else? 

“Okay,” Sergio agrees, unintentionally saving Raquel from contemplating what to say next. “Okay...let’s talk, then.” 

So, they do. 

They talk about their respective weeks - Sergio and the stress of covering Economics as well as Biochemistry, Raquel and the stress of balancing the needs of her job, her daughter, _and_ her gradually deteriorating mother at once - all without mentioning the obvious elephant in the room: 

_We haven’t seen each other at all this week._

They laugh together about the usual things, with Raquel telling Sergio about Paula’s ever-growing attitude, and Sergio likening her back-chat to that of his older brother. 

“Sounds a lot like the way _Andrés_ talks to me,” he’d remarked down the phone, eliciting a humoured sound from Raquel. 

“Well that _fills_ me with confidence, thank you,” she’d chuckled back.

She then took that as an opportunity to drop in the fact that _perhaps_ Paula just needed some time with a well-mannered individual - someone like her Uncle Sergio, of course - very much assuming that he would insist on seeing Paula soon to combat such. 

_He didn’t._

Just as he hadn’t offered to bring her a coffee, either. 

Raquel wouldn’t ever consider herself a paranoid person, nor could she imagine a reality in which Sergio would actively avoid her. 

Obviously, returning to normal after having slept together for two months was always going to be somewhat _unusual -_ she’d expected that. 

But, to not see Sergio _at all_ after eight weeks of being closer to him than ever? That was something Raquel hadn’t accounted for, and it was bringing out a side to her that she didn’t particularly welcome with open arms. 

By around 5PM, she finds herself reaching out to Mónica, desperate for some company that doesn’tcome in the form of her mother asking how Sergio is, _forgetting_ that she’s asked such, then proceeding to ask again. And again. And _again._

Thankfully, Mónica invites her round, informing Raquel that Ágata is already there and halfway through a bottle of wine - something Raquel takes _little_ persuading to participate in. 

“Whatever makes you bad, makes you better,” Ágata claims, pouring her a glass before she even gets the chance to refuse, _“trust me.”_

“I trust you,” Raquel grins, taking the glass willingly from her, “not with a lot, but with this for sure.” 

“Ay! What do you mean _not with a lot?”_ Ágata retorts, shooting Raquel an accusatory look as the three of them make their way out onto the balcony, “I’m right about most things. _Everything,_ actually,” she argues, “I mean, look at you and Sergio.” 

Raquel rolls her eyes, her heart dropping a little at his name. She did _not_ want to get onto this topic of conversation so early into the evening. 

“What about me and Sergio?’

“I told you _weeks_ ago that he wasn’t the hook-up type,” Ágata stresses, pulling a chair out from under the table and sitting down, “now you’re _not_ hooking up, and all of a sudden the guy can’t bring himself to see you.” 

Raquel looks at her with a puzzled expression, eliciting a scoff from her friend. 

“Mónica told me,” she shrugs. 

“Told you _what?”_ Raquel asks, widening her eyes at Mónica. 

“That you _finally_ told Sergio about Suárez,” Ágata explains, “and that you haven’t seen him since.” 

Raquel takes a swig of her wine, her body language defensive as she does so. “Well, thanks for that, Món,” she grumbles, “that was good of you.”

“It just came up in conversation,” she explains with apologetic eyes, “a-and besides, you would’ve told her sooner or later.” 

“There was nothing to _tell,”_ Raquel implores, feigning nonchalance as though Sergio’s absence hadn’t crossed her _own_ mind a thousand times. “He’s just...we’ve both had a busy week, that’s all.” 

“When has that man _ever_ been too busy to see you, hm?” Ágata presses, throwing an accusatory glance in her friend’s direction. _“When?”_

Raquel just stares back at her, blinking rapidly as she stirs the wine in her glass with gentle wrist movements. 

“I rest my case,” Ágata states, her expression exasperated as she takes another drink. “Honestly, there isn’t much in this life that grinds me down but, _shit..._ you two exhaust me.” 

“How? We don’t _do_ anything.” 

“Well, exactly. That, right there, is the problem.” 

A fairly comfortable silence engulfs them shortly after, and Raquel thinks she’s avoided further interrogation - something greatly beneficial for the headache she’s dealing with. She tries to avoid eye contact with Ágata, whose expression is thoughtful, another question obviously dancing on her lips. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

_And, here we go._

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Raquel mumbles, although she knows that saying such won’t deter Ágata, anyway. 

“Do you actually like this Suárez guy?” 

Raquel exhales. _Does she?_ Yes, she thinks she does. He’s good-looking. He has a decent heart. He compliments her a lot, and never asks her for more than she feels willing to give. 

And yet, the minute the question is asked, she has doubts. 

“I think so.” 

Ágata side-eyes her. “You _think_ so?” 

“Well _yes,_ then,” Raquel huffs, “yes, I do.” 

“Okay,” the brunette nods, pulling her sunglasses to the tip of her nose and peering over them at her friend. “So, how come it took you so long to tell Sergio, then?” 

Raquel takes a sip of her wine, shrugging in complete ignorance. “I didn’t want to lose him as a friend...a-and besides, I didn’t think it was a big deal,” she lies. 

“You didn’t?” 

“No.” 

Ágata rolls her eyes. “Right,” she says, “and, _what,_ you think it’s a coincidence that you haven’t seen Sergio since you told him?” 

Shifting uncomfortably in her seat, Raquel turns to Mónica for some clarity. She hadn’t even thought about it like that. If anything, surely it should be _her_ hiding away from _him_ \- she had been the one to drag him along blindly for a month, after all. 

“Món?” she asks, cautiously, “do _you_ think I should’ve told him sooner?” 

Mónica swings one leg on top of the other, nursing her glass of wine as she looks at Raquel with pity in her eyes. “A month is a bit of a stretch,” she says, grimacing at Raquel’s crestfallen expression. “I’m sorry.” 

“Right,” Raquel runs her palms down her face. _“Fuck,”_ she curses, although it’s almost inaudible, trapped by the shelter of her hands, “fuck, fuck, _fuck.”_

 _“Fuck_ indeed, honey,” Ágata remarks self-righteously, eliciting a glare of warning from Mónica. _“What?”_ she scoffs, holding her hands up in surrender, “she needs to hear the truth.” 

Raquel looks up, her eyes despairing as she runs a hand through her hair. “Which is?” 

“That you wanted to have your cake and eat it,” Ágata states matter-of-factly, shrugging as she sips her wine. 

Raquel frowns. “Meaning?” 

_“Meaning,_ you wanted to pursue Suárez, but not at the cost of losing what you had with Sergio. And, in _my_ opinion—”

“Is your opinion really necessary?” Mónica interrupts, shooting her another telling look. 

“No, no,” Raquel intervenes, letting out an unsteady breath. Part of her already knew where this was going, but she needed to hear it. She needed someone else to say it, someone to put it out there into the external world so she could _stop_ shutting it off in her head. “It’s fine,” she says, shooting her blonde friend a kind smile before averting her attention back to Ágata, “go on.” 

_“Mira,”_ she starts, wasting no time in revisiting her point as she side-eyes Mónica, briefly. “You and Sergio are friends, right?” 

Raquel nods. “Best friends.” 

“Fine, _best friends,_ then,” Ágata continues, rolling her eyes, “ _whatever,_ it’s irrelevant.” She leans forward, placing her wine glass onto the table as she looks at Raquel, intently. “The point is...friends, best friends, _whatever..._ don’t need to _fuck_ to maintainafriendship, do they?” 

Raquel sighs, knocking back a substantial mouthful of wine. “No,” she mumbles. 

_“No,”_ Ágata reiterates, slapping her hands off of the surface to reinstate her point. “And yet, _somehow_ , your excuse for keeping the whole _Suárez_ thing from Sergio - for a whole _month,_ no less - was that you didn’t want to lose him as a _friend.”_ She forms quotation marks mid-air as the word leaves her mouth, flinging her arms out to the side shortly afterwards. “Friends don’t lose _friends_ when they start dating other people, honey. It’s _bullshit.”_

Raquel doesn’t say a word, rather just staring at the red liquid in her glass, almost hypnotised. Everything that Ágata was saying wasn’t news to her, not by a long shot. She’d spent more than enough nights questioning herself, more than enough nights questioning _him._

Sergio does everything for her, and he’s been doing so consistently for the best part of six years, now. When she needs a shoulder to cry on, he gives her it. When she needs someone to spend time with, someone to make her laugh amidst both mundanity and hardship, he’s there. When she needs childcare for Paula, no matter the circumstances, he steps up. 

_Shit,_ even when she needed something _more_ \- someone’s physical touch to help her come undone - Sergio had been the one to do it. 

This wasn’t a case of _occasionally_ , or _now and again._

This was a case of the **only** constant in her emotionally turbulent life - _him_. 

“Let’s think about something, okay?” Ágata starts up again, evidently oblivious to the amount of thinking her friend was _already_ engaged in. “Let’s say, _I don’t know..._ hypothetically speaking, Sergio meets someone, _vale?”_

Raquel sighs, already exhausted by the direction of the conversation. “Vale,” she mumbles agreeably, leaning back into her seat. 

Ágata cocks her brow. “How does it make you feel?” 

“I don’t know,” Raquel huffs, “it hasn’t happened, has it?”

“Well, _hypothetically_ speaking.” 

Raquel rolls her eyes, tapping her left-hand fingers irritably against the table. “I can’t just _assume_ how I’d feel in a non-existent situation, can I?” 

“No?” Ágata scoffs, as relentless as ever, “let me do the honours, then - I think you’d be bothered. _So_ bothered. _Outrageously bo—”_

“Yes, _alright_ , I get it,” Raquel interrupts, her gaze falling onto the view from the balcony. “It would be... _strange_ , I admit.” 

Ágata widens her eyes at Mónica. “Strange!” she exclaims, toasting her glass theatrically into the air, “we’re getting somewhere!” 

Mónica pulls a disgruntled face. “Do you have _any_ tact?” she asks, her tone chastising. 

“Tact doesn’t get results, honey,” the brunette says with a click of her tongue, rising from the table and sauntering through the french doors. “I’m going for a top up.” 

Placing a sympathetic hand on Raquel’s shoulder, Mónica shuffles her chair a little closer, keen to take advantage of their new-found peace in Ágata’s temporary absence. “Can I ask you something?” she proposes, her voice gentle in it’s approach. 

Raquel brings her wine glass up to her lips, sighing at the further interrogation, but unwilling to argue back this time. “Go ahead,” she says defeatedly, taking another considerable sip.

“How does it feel when you sleep with him?” Mónica asks after a moment of hesitation. 

“Who?” Raquel asks, turning her neck to look at her friend, “Sergio?” 

Mónica shakes her head, slotting some of her wayward hair behind her ear. “Suárez,” she clarifies, her tone soft and approachable. “Is it...does it feel different? Do _you_ feel different?” 

Raquel feels her cheeks turning colour, looking back out to the view beyond the balcony as she tenses her jaw. “I haven’t slept with him, Món,” she confesses, although her voice barely surpasses a whisper. 

Mónica lets out a quick laugh, probably founded upon disbelief. “What?” she asks, smiling despite her confusion. 

“I haven’t slept with him,” Raquel clarifies a little louder, swallowing thickly as she turns to make eye contact with her friend. “We, uh...we haven’t had sex.” 

“You haven’t?” Mónica says, her eyes widening involuntarily. When she catches the sincerity in Raquel’s face, she retracts her shock, approaching the matter in a much calmer tone. “You haven’t,” she reiterates, “a-and there’s nothing wrong with that.” 

“Don’t insult my intelligence,” Raquel interjects, bluntly.

“Hey,” Mónica says, placing a sympathetic hand on her friend’s shoulder, “there’s no time limit to these things, right? You can’t just, I don’t know _...force_ something like that.”

“You’re right,” Raquel nods slowly, _thoughtfully,_ “you can’t.” She gently removes Mónica’s hand from her shoulder, feeling somewhat undeserving of the sympathy. This was _her_ mess, after all - starting something up with Sergio that was meant to be innocent fun, and ending it because she could feel herself edging back into a mentality that she’d tried to rid herself of _years ago._

_What if?_

She didn’t see him like that. She _couldn’t_ see him like that. Sergio didn’t do romantic attachments, he didn’t do relationships - something he’d made very clear whenever she tried to discuss such with him. Raquel had grown used to going on dates with other people, building relationships with other people, _sleeping_ with other people, and he was her **best** friend. That’s all. 

But, Ágata was right in what she said earlier - best friends don’t sleep together _just_ to stay best friends. They certainly don’t _enjoy it_ as much as she had done, either. 

And, now that they had, the thought of her doing that with anybody else unsettled her a little bit. 

The thought of _Sergio_ doing that with anybody else unsettled her a little bit, too. 

Unsettled her _a lot,_ actually. 

More than she cared to let herself even think about. 

“So, have you... _you know?”_ Mónica asks gently, trying not to scare Raquel off with any bold vocabulary, “have you done...other stuff?”

“Oh, everything _but_ ,” Raquel replies, curling both hands around her glass, “so it’s definitely not that I’m not _attracted_ to him. I just...I don’t know,” she ponders, “whenever it feels like that’s going to happen, I get this sense of...of _guilt.”_

Mónica frowns. “Guilt?”

“Guilt,” Raquel reaffirms, zoning out into the distance as she lets her thoughts materialise into words, “like...like I’m cheating, somehow.” 

“Cheating?” Mónica asks incredulously, although she already knows the answer, deep down. 

“It just feels like…I don’t know, it’s _stupid,”_ Raquel swallows, mustering up the emotional energy to look her friend in the eye as she says it: 

“Sleeping with Suárez...i-it would feel like cheating on Sergio.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! 
> 
> I'm moving out on Monday to study in a new city, so I anticipate that updates will be slower from now on guys :( I'll still try to return as quickly as possible - thank you so much in advance for your patience♥️
> 
> Stream 'illicit affairs' (and 'cardigan' yaaay) for all the feels. 
> 
> You can find me on Twitter at @sergiosraquel 💓


	12. keep your eyes down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK! 
> 
> Gosh, it's only been around a fortnight, but it's felt like a lifetime. As I said at the end of chapter 11, I've recently moved to a new city to pursue music, and things have been an emotional rollercoaster, which has pushed writing further down my list of priorities, sadly :( 
> 
> I've missed you all so much, and I've been trying to fit in writing as and when I can, without doing a disservice to the story by rushing it. Having said that, a two week hiatus means that I fear I've forgotten what good writing even is, haha! So, I just desperately hope this chapter is okay for you guys. 
> 
> Thank you from the bottom of my heart for the continued enthusiasm and patience. I've read all of your wonderful comments, I'm just so sorry I haven't had chance to respond yet. I promise I will get round to it in time. 
> 
> Love u guys endlessly <3

The nausea settled within Sergio’s stomach is seemingly unwilling to shift as he stands awkwardly before his bedroom mirror, holding a shirt up against himself as his head overflows with nothing but worst-case scenarios and ready-made assumptions. 

He’d tried to talk Andrés out of the idea, _believe_ him, he had. But, for every “no” Sergio gave him, his elder sibling returned with further reasoning, further excuses, further _pressure_ \- all of which led to the very thing behind the uneasy feeling that Sergio had carried all week.

He’d agreed to go on a date with Lucía. 

And, tonight was the night of such. 

They haven’t planned anything big - just some food in town, perhaps some drinks afterwards if things go particularly well - but the casual nature of the evening doesn’t at all subside any of Sergio’s fears, and he finds himself praying with every passing second that something, _anything,_ will crop up, and that they’ll have to cancel. 

His hopes momentarily rise as his phone vibrates on the bedside table, lunging to grab it as he readjusts his glasses, peering at the message on the lock screen. 

_Lucía, 16:31: [Still okay for 7 tonight?]_

Exhaling loudly, Sergio feels another nauseous rush to his stomach, sliding his finger across the screen to open the message properly. 

Emotionally speaking, _no,_ he absolutely isn’t okay for seven o’clock tonight. 

Physically speaking, he _has_ to be. 

So, of course, he taps out a quick and agreeable response, adding a smiley face at the end to reinforce his non-existent enthusiasm. 

_Sergio, 16:32: [Of course. See you then :)]_

He throws his phone down onto his bed, averting his attention back to the shirt he’d been contemplating a few minutes prior. Was it too plain? Would he need to wear a tie? Or would that be too much? He doesn’t really own much smart-casual wear; his entire wardrobe consists of either _incredibly_ smart or _incredibly_ casual - mostly the former, and neither exactly _date_ appropriate. 

In situations like this, Sergio would almost _always_ turn to Raquel for help, having asked her on countless occasions which tie to go for, which shoes to pick, or which suit jacket to wear. Of course, any advice she’d given him in the past had been regarding a progress review, perhaps, or a work-related dinner. She even helped him select the right shirt for Paula’s dance recital, something Sergio willingly accompanied Raquel to each year.

But, he’d never had to turn to her for advice on dating attire, and he certainly wasn’t going to start now. 

Especially when Raquel didn’t even _know_. 

He’d wanted to bring it up in conversation on Wednesday, finally arranging to see her properly for the first time since their chat about Suárez, butRaquel had cancelled at the last minute, telling Sergio that there’d been a change of plan to her evening. 

Concerned as well as disheartened, Sergio had called his brother up, pleading with him to cancel Friday’s arrangements. He could barely even _consider_ seeing another woman when his friendship with Raquel felt as though it was fraying at the seams. 

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea right now,” Sergio had mumbled down the line, his tone feeble.

“Why?” Andrés had asked, flatly. “Have you had a better offer?” 

“I mean, I-I wouldn’t say...it’s not that—” 

“Have you?” 

“No,” Sergio exhaled, quitting reluctantly.

“Then, why would I cancel on your behalf? Wise up, little brother. You can’t pine over her forever.”

“Over who?” 

Andrés had ignored that bit, and Sergio could practically _feel_ the way he’d rolled his eyes at the other end of the line. “Besides,” his elder sibling continued, “you have her number now. _You_ cancel.”

And then, the line had gone dead. 

Of course, Sergio didn’t have it in him to be the one to do so, especially when he knew deep down that his brother was right. 

What would he be cancelling for? More importantly, _who_ would he be cancelling for? The person who just cancelled on _him?_ The person who probably had plans with _her own man_ for that same, coming Friday?

If anything, this date would be a distraction for Sergio. An evening on which he _didn’t_ clock-watch by the hour, wondering where Raquel was, whether she was having fun, whether Suárez was making her feel things that he never could. 

That’s why nothing more was said on the matter of cancelling, and before Sergio knew it, Friday was here, and he’d been staring at a god-damned shirt for so long that it barely even _looked_ like a shirt anymore. 

_“Fuck,”_ he mutters under his breath, rubbing his eyes beneath his glasses as he throws the shirt onto the bed, returning to his wardrobe for another look. 

There simply aren’t enough words in Sergio’s first _or_ second language to describe how much he does **not** want to go through with this. He’s useless at small talk. Useless at _any_ kind of talk when it comes to women, actually. 

The only woman he knows how to talk to is Raquel. She’s the only one he ever _wants_ to talk to. 

And, he hates the fact that he can’t. 

Still, he tries to tell himself that even the _worst_ thing that could happen isn’t all that bad. Perhaps they don’t click at all, and Sergio has a terrible night. _So what?_ He can walk away from it knowing that he (barely) tried, and he’ll never have to see her again. 

With that in mind, he settles on the shirt that he’d tossed onto the bed, picking out a pair of trousers to match and _refusing_ to fall into his usual habit of overthinking the decision. 

By 6:40PM, Sergio is out of the flat. 

________________________________

The restaurant is fairly busy upon his arrival, but Sergio is fairly certain that he is the first to arrive out of himself and Lucía. 

He certainly doesn’t spot the woman from the photographs at the bar, and he’s confident that she wouldn’t have taken their table alone. Besides, they weren’t booked in to eat until 8pm, so if she was going to be anywhere, it would be _here_ buying a drink. 

Making his way over to the bartender, Sergio decides to order himself a drink in the meantime, opting for a beer to begin with. Of course, he tells himself that wine is simply too strong of a beginning, completely repressing the narrative in his head that he’s only ever used to drinking wine with—

“I’ll wait here at the bar, okay?” 

_—with Raquel._

He turns slowly at first, giving himself time to adjust to the voice that sounds nearby. Maybe he’s simply misheard - a result of his subconscious given that he’s out on a date with _someone else._ But, despite such, as Sergio finds himself facing the other way, he has to take a deep and unsteady breath to regulate his own heart. 

“Sergio,” she smiles, an element of surprise in her eyes as she approaches him. 

“Raquel?” he replies, although it comes out as more of a question than anything else. “W-what are you doing here?” 

“Oh, you know,” Raquel ponders with a shrug, “just browsing the area.” 

The teasing nature of her gaze heaps heavy nostalgia onto Sergio’s heart, and he feels foolish for missing someone who is right _there._ “Of course,” he mumbles, helpless to do anything but smile, “a stupid question, right?” 

“Just a little,” Raquel says with a grin that matches his own, but her face soon falls serious. “I’m here with Suárez,” she murmurs. “He’s, uh...he’s just using the bathroom.” 

Sergio nods with solemn understanding, ignoring the way the words reach into his chest and claw at his heart. She’s here with someone else. _He’s_ about to be here with someone else. 

And, yet, the world keeps turning. 

Maybe this is how it was always meant to be. 

“What about you? Raquel asks, her tone genuine and curious as she lures him out of his train of thought. “A table for one?” she says, but it doesn’t look at _all_ like she actually believes that will be the case. 

Sergio is hesitant in his response, stumbling over his words as he tries to approach the question. “I’m... _no,”_ is all that he can manage, though.

Raquel swallows, her brow furrowed as she speaks. “No?” 

“No,” he reiterates. “I’m, uh...I’m expecting someone.” 

“You’re expecting someone?” 

“Yes.” 

Raquel nods complicitly, but the motion seems to get increasingly slower as realisation dawns upon her face. “Wh—like a _date?”_

Nudging his glasses awkwardly up his nose, Sergio feels himself swaying ever-so-slightly on the spot. When he answers her, it’s like it’s not really him speaking, as though he’s watching the words come out of somebody else’s mouth. 

“A date, yes,” he clarifies, quietly. 

It doesn’t feel good to say it aloud. Especially not to her. 

Raquel holds his gaze for a second, but her expression is particularly hard to read. He can’t tell if she looks shocked or disappointed. Whether she’s been stunned into silence, or is simply _unphased._

“Wow,” she mouths eventually, her lips turning up into a smile. “That’s... _wow.”_

Sergio scoffs. “Is it really that much of a shock to you?” he asks with a frown, but his tone is light-hearted.

“No,” Raquel replies, shaking her head without hesitation, “n-no...not at _all_ , actually.” 

“Well, it’s a shock to me,” Sergio confesses, honestly. He tries to laugh, but the sound gets caught in his throat, so he just shrugs instead. “But, here I am, anyway.” 

Raquel offers him a small nod, but she has this look in her eyes that Sergio can’t quite pinpoint. It dissipates as soon as she clears her throat, though, almost as though she wills it away, and her gaze falls just past Sergio’s shoulders, hypnotised by the entrance. “Is this her?” 

Turning around swiftly, Sergio’s eyes meet that of the figure in question. He’s greeted by a small wave, and he tries to return the gesture as casually as possible. “Hi,” he says. 

Lucía’s grin is wide as she opens her arms to embrace him. “Sergio,” she replies, kissing him on both cheeks, “it’s so good to meet you!” 

_“Y tu, y tu,”_ he responds politely, painfully aware of Raquel’s presence behind him, “you, uh...y-you look nice.” 

She smiles kindly at him, completely unassuming as two brown eyes burn into her from behind the man she’s greeting. “Thanks,” she mumbles anyway, giving Sergio the once over, herself. “So do you.” 

At that, Sergio turns around, acknowledging the return of Suárez as Lucía steps forward to mark her presence beside him. He realises then that he must carry out some form of introduction between the two, and it’s the _very last_ thing he anticipated having to do tonight, nudging clumsily at his glasses as he attempts to formulate the words. 

He knows he should probably introduce Raquel to Lucía first, given that he’s technically _with_ the latter this evening, but something within him rejects the idea, and he can’t help but present Lucía to Raquel first. She’s looking at him so expectantly after all, and Sergio cannot possibly lie to himself so early on - Lucía still feels like the intruder here. Like the one who doesn’t belong. Like she’s just walked in on _his and Raquel’s_ evening. 

“This is, uh…” he starts, clearing his throat in a desperate bid to cut some of the awkward tension he feels surrounding himself, “Raquel, this is Lucía.”

Raquel seems to take a moment to digest the information, blinking rapidly as her gaze alternates between Sergio and the woman beside him. “Lucía,” she repeats back, and Sergio contemplates how much she’s actually had to drink, narrowing his eyes a little as though it will help him comprehend such. 

“And, you are?” Lucía smiles, her tone polite and approachable. 

Extending her hand out, Raquel shares her name somewhat formally. “A-and this is my…” she pauses, and Sergio catches her gaze momentarily, only for her to look away just as quickly, “...this is Suárez.” 

“Suárez,” Lucía clarifies, shaking his hand just as she had done Raquel’s, “it’s good to meet you both.” 

“And you,” Suárez discloses politely, although Sergio is too busy paying attention to the way Raquel says nothing at all.

He vaguely tunes in to Lucía proposing the idea of them all having a drink together to begin with, and only then does he catch Raquel’s line of sight for longer than a split second, the two of them sharing a look of mutual discomfort. 

They both attempt to speak at the same time, muffled collisions of _“I don’t know if the restaurant will—”_ and _“why don’t we just—”_ getting lost amidst their small, _over-crowded_ crowd. 

In the thick of it all, Sergio finds himself quietly yearning for the way things were not so long ago; the days when he had Raquel, Raquel had him, and third parties didn’t turn them into a pair of passing strangers, entirely out of sync. 

“No, no, _let’s,”_ Lucía implores, interrupting his moment of nostalgia, “we’ve got all night to spend just the two of us, right?” 

Sergio feels the way she nudges her shoulder into his own, an affectionate gesture that shouldn’t make him feel as out of place as it does. “Sure,” he mumbles anyway, his resistance wearing thin, “sure, why not?” 

________________________________

“So, how long have you two known each other, then?” Lucía asks, taking a sip of her drink as she directs her gaze towards Raquel. 

The four of them have been seated around a table in the bar area for around ten minutes so far; Sergio beside Lucía with his hands clasped awkwardly upon his lap, and Raquel opposite him with Suárez to her right. For the most part, Sergio finds himself glancing over at his best friend, only to find that she’s already looking at him, or vice versa. If he didn’t know better, he’d assume that perhaps she felt as misplaced within this whole thing as he did - the two of them sitting here, just like _so_ many times before...only this time their company didn’t belong to one another. 

“Around six years now,” Raquel’s voice brings him back to reality, and she shoots him a brief, shy smile, as she answers the question.

Lucía’s eyes widen. _“Six years?”_ she queries again, cocking her brow at Suárez, “and you haven’t put a ring on her finger, yet?” 

Suárez pulls his beer away from his lips, confusion present in his features. “Oh no, I-I didn’t...we haven’t—” 

“No, no, _sorry,”_ Raquel interjects quickly, her face flushed and her laughter somewhat strained as she tries to explain herself. “I thought...I-I thought you meant Sergio and I.”

Understanding dawns on Lucía’s face as she starts to participate in the performative laughter. “No, no,” she says, gesturing her head towards the couple opposite her, “I meant you a-and...sorry, what was your name, again?” 

“Suárez,” he smiles, politely. “We, uh, we did meet briefly some years ago, but...we only actually got together about five weeks ago.” 

“I see,” Lucía smiles, evidently oblivious to the way Sergio’s eyes fall towards the table as he says it.

He swallows thickly beside her, drumming his fingertips lightly against the table and _praying_ that nobody directs conversation towards him. 

“How about you?” Suárez enquires, politely. “How did, uh...how did you and Sergio meet?”

Lucía lets out a delicate laugh, placing her hand tentatively on Sergio’s arm. “We were actually set up by his brother,” she discloses, amusement present in her tone, “weren’t we?” 

Sergio finally lifts his gaze again, forcing a smile as he nods in agreement. “We were,” he mumbles. 

“You know,” Lucía remarks, adjusting herself slightly to face him, “you’re actually my first ever blind date.”

“Is that a dig at my visual impairment?” Sergio frowns. 

Lucía cocks her brow at him. “Quite possibly, yes,” she grins, smiling wider as Sergio starts to laugh. 

It’s the first time he feels relatively _okay_ about being here with her, even if only for a fleeting moment, but he holds onto it nonetheless. He isn’t sure where the temporary measure of confidence came from, but both Lucía and Suárez seem to have taken the little joke well, regardless.

The only person looking mildly uncomfortable with it is Raquel. 

In fact, she’s the only person not looking at _all,_ her eyes down as she fiddles mindlessly with the edge of her napkin. His instincts kick in as he opens his mouth to ask if she’s okay, but Lucía cuts in again before he has the chance to do so.

“Have you ever been on a blind date, Raquel?” she asks innocently, removing her hand from Sergio’s arm as she takes a sip of her drink. 

The brunette looks up, her expression somewhat shocked, almost as though she’d momentarily forgotten her surroundings. “I, uh...I’ve— _yes,”_ she stutters, “y-yes I have.” 

Lucía smiles, her gaze curious. “How many?” 

“A few,” Raquel shrugs, bringing her glass to her lips. “Sergio is usually the one to take me, to be honest,” she discloses, only realising her mistake as she sees the other woman’s expression change. _“T-to_ the dates,” she clarifies, moving her drink away from her mouth just as quickly, “not _on_ them.” 

“Oh,” Lucía exhales, her tone threaded with relief, _“of course,_ that makes sense.” She turns to Sergio, narrowing her eyes at him, teasingly. “Were you her personal chauffeur?” 

Sergio swallows beside her, cringing at the forced nature of his own laughter. “I guess so,” he says, braving eye-contact with Raquel. “Although I never really minded, to be honest.” 

“Ah,” Lucía draws out, smiling beside him. “A gentleman,” she remarks, “that’s what I like to hear.” 

“Yeah, there’s, uh…there’s not many out there like Sergio,” Raquel says, and the truth of the matter is, it comes out far more wistfully than she perhaps would’ve liked it to, almost as though she’s saying it to _herself_ rather than anyone else. 

Hearing her say it makes Sergio's heart swell a little, but he can't help feeling the weight of the _what if_ that lingers within the statement, trying to catch her gaze as she looks desperately at anything and _anyone_ but him. At this point, he just doesn't understand. 

If he was so rare, then _why doesn't she want him?_

He snaps out of the mindset quickly, keen to avoid falling down that rabbit hole as himself and Lucía catch onto the way that the man beside her scoffs in jest. Muttering _‘thanks’_ under his breath, Suárez rolls his eyes teasingly, but Raquel is apparently oblivious. 

Either that or she simply doesn’t choose to dignify it with a response, rather just standing abruptly from where she’s seated. “Do you mind if I just...” she starts, seemingly restless, “I need to use the bathroom.” 

Sergio frowns at the way she avoids his eye-contact again. He wants to ask her if she’s okay, he wants to ask her if _they’re_ okay, but their circumstances are so unlike anything that they’d ever experienced before. Simply put, it’s just incredibly difficult to know the right thing to do. 

And so, he opts to remain silent as Raquel makes her exit, spending just over ten minutes in the bathroom. 

At that point, Suárez decides to check on her, leaving Sergio alone with Lucía for the first time. 

For the rest of the evening, actually. 

He doesn’t see either of them again, after that. 

________________________________

Based on the assumptions he’d made over the years about how first dates _should_ go, Sergio was willing to call this one a success. 

Not a _roaring_ one, of course, and he hadn’t much other experience to compare it to, but _hey._

He’d call it a success, no less. 

Following the sudden departure of both Raquel and Suárez, Sergio had pretty much convinced himself of the fact that he was going to have to leave, too. After all, how could he possibly relax when his best friend and her, well _, boyfriend_ , he supposed, had left so suddenly, and all without so much as an explanation? 

Had Raquel been upset? Had she been unwell? What if her and Suárez had some huge argument, and she’d ended up leaving alone? 

Sergio had voiced his concerns as casually as possible to his date, cautious of the fact that he could come off a little _too_ bothered, but Lucía hadn’t been at all phased. 

“Oh, _come on,_ Sergio,” she’d stressed, “they’re still a fairly new couple. Sitting down for a meal is probably the _last_ thing they’re interested in doing right now.” 

Sergio had swallowed hard, trying to digest the reality of what she was saying. “You think?” he’d asked, feeling stupidly naive as Lucía gave him this _look._

“Trust me,” she’d reassured him, “I _know_.” 

After that, his only objective had been to try and let himself enjoy the evening, because Lucía’s remark had been nothing short of a harsh reality check. 

His brother had encouraged this date for a reason - because, he couldn’t possibly justify spending anymore time pining over a love that wasn’t his to feel. Whatever it was that he and Raquel had was a temporary measure. It was an arrangement that she’d proposed to satisfy her needs, and that he’d agreed to to satisfy his _heart_. 

In the end, though, Raquel had found the fulfilment of her needs elsewhere, and Sergio’s heart had been left with a void far greater than _anything_ could ever fulfill again. 

But, he had to try. 

For his own sanity. For the sanity of his brother. 

And, most importantly, for his friendship with Raquel to actually survive. 

That’s why he’d allowed himself the luxury of attempted enjoyment, just for one evening, and to some extent it _had_ worked. 

They’d talked about a range of things, from their families to their jobs, their hopes and their fears, current affairs and all things in between. The conversation had flowed pretty effortlessly, given that one topic of conversation was avoided at all costs: 

His friendship with Raquel. 

When it came to ordering their food, Lucía informed him that she was actually a newly-turned vegetarian, filling Sergio in on the trials and tribulations that came with avoiding meat, something she’d enjoyed ever since she was a child. Her mannerisms and general exaggerations when telling the story had made Sergio laugh - _genuinely laugh -_ and he’d realised in that moment that he _was_ capable of enjoying another woman’s company. 

Perhaps never to the extent that he enjoyed Raquel’s, of course. 

But, capable enough to agree to seeing Lucía again, that’s for sure. 

As they’d said their goodbyes, he felt grateful that she hadn’t tried to take things any further than they needed to go, simply settling for a respectful hug and a kiss on the cheek. Sergio most definitely wasn’t ready for anything other than that, especially given the fact that the last person he’d been remotely close to in _any_ way was the very woman that he was trying to get over. 

In his head, it felt as though the moment he kissed someone else, it would be closure of a chapter that, truth be told, he wasn’t quite ready to let go of yet. 

Still, he saw tonight as the beginning of such.

_The commencement of his healing process._

All until he steps out of his taxi home, his gaze falling upon the outline of a figure that doesn’t usually reside on the doorstep of his apartment block.

Sergio opens his mouth, expecting her name to fall from his lips with ease, but the sound gets lost in his throat as he processes the fact that she’s even standing there. He’s experiencing equal bouts of both confusion and concern, wondering what on earth she’s doing here, at 10:45PM in the chill of the evening, and for the second time tonight, her name falls from his lips in the form of a question.

_“Raquel?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with me and coming back to read, it means the world to me♥️
> 
> Please do let me know what you think if you wish to, and, as always, stream 'illicit affairs' throughout!
> 
> You can find me on Twitter at @sergiosraquel 💓


	13. so, you leave no trace behind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I'm back!!
> 
> I've finally started to work my way through all the comments that have been left both on here and on twitter (sorry if I haven't got back to you yet), and my _god_ , what an incredible bunch you are😭I know I keep repeating myself, but I absolutely adore hearing what you all think, and it's such a motivation for me to continue writing when I know how much people care about the story. It's so touching, seriously, thank you❤️
> 
> I hope my writing continues to live up to everyone's expectations, and that you all enjoy this chapter! 
> 
> All the love<3

“Raquel?” Sergio says, approaching the front of his apartment block with a little caution. He tries to take back control of his breathing, frustrated by the way she continues to have such an unwavering affect on him, even after enjoying his night with someone else. 

Unfolding her arms from across her chest, Raquel tucks her hair behind her ear, offering him a small, albeit unconvincing, smile. “I’m sorry to just show up out of the blue like this,” she starts, wiping the palms of her hands against her skirt, “I just…” 

“No need to apologise,” Sergio interrupts, readjusting his glasses, “you’re always welcome here.” He looks at her with sincerity in his eyes, somewhat concerned by the anxiousness he can sense on Raquel’s part. “Is everything okay?” 

She exhales unsteadily, throwing him another smile that barely reaches her eyes. “Of course,” she says, pulling at the sleeves of her jumper as her eye-contact wavers. “I just, uh...I was passing.” 

Sergio frowns. “You were?” he asks curiously, eliciting a weak nod from Raquel. 

“I was,” she confirms, “a-and I wanted to see how your night went.” 

There’s an evidently uncomfortable pause, the silence between them penetrated only by the barely-present sound of the evening breeze. Momentarily, Sergio thinks about fulfilling her supposed wishes, telling her that his night went relatively well, but his pressing awareness of the fact that she could’ve simply _called_ and asked him advises him to say nothing of the sort. “Where’s Suárez?” he asks, instead. 

At that, he completely loses Raquel’s gaze, looking on as she nods her head towards the entrance of the building. “Can I, uh...can I come in?”

Sergio furrows his brow. He isn’t going to deny her the chance to do so, _of course not,_ but something about her behaviour is gravely unusual. Still, he offers her a reassuring smile, fumbling around in his pockets for his keys. _“Claro, claro,”_ he mumbles, holding his arm out to gesture that she could enter the lobby before him, “after you.” 

“Thanks,” Raquel smiles, but even in the newly-found light of the foyer, Sergio can tell that something is troubling her, so he chooses to remain silent, letting the quiet encompass them as they make their way up to his apartment. 

“Can I get you a drink?” Sergio asks as he turns the key in the lock, pushing the door open and stepping aside to let Raquel enter first. 

She shakes her head meekly, looking around the living area as though she’s seeing it for the very first time. “I’m okay,” she says, placing her bag down by the doorway.

Sergio nods, but he double checks with her regardless. “Are you sure?” he asks, pulling his phone out of his pocket and glancing at it briefly. He’s met with a text message from Lucía, scanning it as quickly as possible as he absorbs the information that she had a great night, and that she got home safely. 

He feels somewhat uncomfortable as he taps out a rapid response, looking up after pressing send to find that Raquel’s gaze is already awaiting his own. It feels intense and weighted, so much so that Sergio finds himself looking away, nudging his glasses back up his nose and placing his phone down on the arm of the sofa.

“Lucía?” she asks knowingly, clearly opting to ignore their futile discussion about whether or not she was sure about the drink. 

Sergio clears his throat. “Yes,” he mumbles. 

“I thought so,” Raquel responds, perching herself on the edge of the sofa in an evidently _unsettled_ manner. She clasps her hands before her, resting them on her knees as she exhales, filling another one of their unscheduled silences. 

“I, uh…” Sergio starts, swallowing as his arms dangle awkwardly by his sides. “I’m going to make a coffee,” he announces, moving in the direction of the kitchen within his apartment. It’s only as he just reaches the doorway that Raquel makes her _own_ announcement, far greater than anything he could have anticipated. 

“I ended things,” she says, greeting Sergio with an anxious expression as he turns slowly to face her. 

He can see the alleviation of some kind of heaviness from her shoulders as she continues, almost as though each word departs with a tonne weight tied to it. “Suárez and I. It’s, uh...it’s done.” 

Sergio blinks behind his glasses for what is probably only a matter of seconds, but it feels like an entire lifetime. Of course, he’d pictured this moment in his head so many times before - imagined the euphoria so vividly that he could practically _feel it._

But, for this to happen now? Just as he’d let himself believe that the beginning of his healing process was on the horizon? Well, it’s a variable he simply hadn’t considered. 

As he opens his mouth to ask her _why_ , he finds the words just dry up on his tongue, and so he stands there in bewildered silence, hoping Raquel will take to the floor with further clarification. 

“I’m sorry, I…” she mutters, forcing out unnecessary laughter that only amplifies the discomfort of the situation, _“God,_ I don’t know why I just came out with it like that.” 

“It’s okay,” Sergio says. His voice is small and quiet, almost unrecognisable. 

“I just...I guess it’s—” Raquel continues, stumbling over her own words as she speaks, “no time is the right time.” 

Sergio lets out a short, breathy laugh, bittersweet in it’s delivery. 

_No time is the right time._

“I guess not,” he mumbles, scratching at the tip of his nose in a bid to occupy his hands. “Are you, um...a-are you okay, though?” 

Raquel nods promptly, holding Sergio’s gaze. “I’m okay,” she says, but her expression quickly discredits the words that leave her mouth, and she adjusts them accordingly. _“I will be.”_

“Of course,” Sergio mumbles, still hovering clumsily between the living area and the kitchen as he waits for the relief to kick in - the relief he’d anticipated so _monumentally_ when picturing this moment. 

It doesn’t seem to arrive, though. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks cautiously, eliciting a mixed response from Raquel. 

At first, she shakes her head, waving her hand too as though it really _is_ no big deal. But, then she starts to nod, only to round the whole thing off with a shrug. “I don’t know if there’s anything to talk about, really,” she murmurs, but her voice holds little conviction. 

Sergio makes his way back over to the sofa, sitting on the edge of such, himself. 

It’s ironic, he thinks, the way they’ve gone full circle - their stances matching just as they had done the very night Raquel told him she was _with_ Suárez. 

And, once again, just like a mirror image of that evening - he has no idea what to say. 

“Did you have a good night?” Raquel asks, easing the conversation in gently with a somewhat unrelated query. 

“I did,” Sergio says, trying to be nonchalant. He offers a smile in her direction, only to find that her gaze is no longer awaiting his own. “It was nice,” he says, looking on as she picks harshly at her fingernails. 

Raquel nods, her eyes distant and hazy as she glances up again. “That’s good,” she smiles, swallowing as she gears herself up to continue. “Will you...will you be seeing her again?” 

“I think so,” Sergio discloses softly, thinking back to the way they’d left things. He knows for sure that it’s on the cards for him to see Lucía again, but something tells him that Raquel’s seemingly fragile demeanour is unwilling to stomach such a definitive answer - especially given that her own relationship has just ended. 

“She seems lovely,” Raquel says, more so to _herself_ than to Sergio, though. 

Sergio exhales, slowly. “She is,” he says, pressing his thumb into the palm of his hand as he waits for Raquel to meet his gaze again. “But...forgive me for thinking that you didn’t turn up on my doorstep tonight just to tell me how _nice_ my date was.” 

The brutal honesty takes Raquel by surprise, almost as much as it does _Sergio_. She appears to be momentarily speechless, her mouth slightly agape as she looks towards him. “No,” she confesses, her defenses falling the very minute that their eyes meet. 

Offering her a sincere expression, Sergio adjusts himself so that his body is facing her. He reaches out a cautious hand, placing it tentatively on her knee. Maybe she really _is_ cut up about Suárez _,_ he thinks. Or maybe they’re _finally_ going to talk about whatever the _fuck_ has happened between them over these past few weeks. 

Whatever it is, Raquel evidently needs to say it aloud. It’s written all over her face. 

“You know you can talk to me about anything,” Sergio says, eliciting a sorrowful smile from the woman before him. “It’s obvious that…” he pauses, trying to regulate his breathing as he searches for the best way to word his point, “I knowwe’ve been distant since... _you know._ O-or at least that’s how it’s felt,” he nudges at his glasses, “to be honest, it’s probably my fault—” 

“No, it isn’t,” Raquel interrupts, confidently, “not at all.” She places her own hand over Sergio’s, and for the _very_ _first time_ since they last slept together, it feels as though they’re on the same page. 

As though they’re actually seeing one another as openly and honestly as they so often used to. 

“I’ve been at fault too,” Raquel continues, taking a deep, resolute breath. “To be honest, the last month or so shouldn’t have happened at all.” 

Sergio frowns. “In what way?” 

“In _every_ way,” Raquel confesses, letting out a small laugh. “Honestly?” she persists, her gaze alternating between their touching hands and the man before her, “I should’ve ended things with Suárez long before now.” 

“Really?” Sergio asks, although he maintains a non-judgemental tone. He’d be lying if he said he understood what she was implying, but he runs with it nonetheless. 

After all, his heart would argue that she _never_ should’ve been with Suárez in the _first place._

But, his heart was _also_ trying to leave those grievances in the past.

_“Really,”_ Raquel continues, shaking her head slightly. “I just…” she hesitates momentarily, as though the words have become stuck in her throat, removing her hand from Sergio’s and running it through her hair, instead. “Tonight was... _weird,_ you know?” 

Sergio opts to keep his hand on her knee, fearful that she may start to close off from him again. He didn’t want to go through another fortnight like the last - second guessing her behavior, second guessing his _own_ behavior, and avoiding her in a bid to stop doing so. 

“Weird?” he questions, although he already kind of understands. It had always been a dynamic of _two_ for them, and experiencing one another’s company whilst out with other people was, by its very definition, just _weird._

Raquel nods, staring thoughtfully at the wall ahead. “Don’t you think?” she asks. 

“A little,” Sergio murmurs, using his free hand to adjust his glasses, “but, I-I guess it’s just...I don’t know... _habit,_ maybe? I mean, we’ve never really been out together with other people around, and—”

“You honestly believe that?” Raquel interrupts, turning her neck to face at him. “You think we’ll ever get used to seeing one another with other people?” 

Sighing unsteadily, Sergio shrugs, trying to act nonchalant about the fact that she’s asking him the very question that he’s been asking himself for so long. “I’ve been watching you with other people for years, Raquel,” he replies funningly, wearing a paper thin smile and giving her knee a small squeeze. 

He hates being so light-hearted about it, but what else can he possibly do? 

“I’m definitely used to it at this point,” he lies, punctuating his words with a small breath of laughter and expecting Raquel to reciprocate such. 

Instead, she just blinks at him, taking his hand off her knee with a gentle force as she gets to her feet. “Well, I’m not,” she says, her voice catching in her throat as she does so. “I’m sorry, but...but I’m not.” 

Sergio can see her reflection as she faces the mirror on the wall, and he catches a glimpse of the slight glaze that covers her brown eyes just before she rubs it away, her hands moving somewhat aggressively against her face. 

“Raquel, are you okay?” he asks, cursing himself for how utterly _stupid_ it sounds. He stands up, reaching out to touch her arm, and he takes note of the way that her eyes cloud over again as his fingertips meet her skin. 

“I’m fine,” she dismisses, offering him an empty smile, _“really,_ I just...I’ve got a lot going on. You know, what with work, a-and my family, and now _Suárez_ , too.”

Sergio nods, his eyes embedded with sincerity and understanding. “It’s a lot,” he murmurs, troubled by how sad she looks, “but, I’m here for you.”

Her expression changes as the words fall from his lips, the control in her features faltering entirely as he witnesses a visible realisation wash over her. “I don’t think you can be,” she says softly, and the pools of water that reside in her eyes begin to spill over onto her cheeks. “I’m so sorry.” 

Sergio’s brow furrows, suddenly burdened by the fact that he’s managed to upset her in some way. “I don’t understand,” he says, his eyes scanning her face for some clarity, “of course I can be here for you...I-I _am_ here for you.” 

“I know you are,” Raquel smiles sadly as she shifts her arm away from his touch, “but you don’t need to be.” She uses her forearm to wipe at her eyes, shrugging half-heartedly as she speaks towards the floor, “I just...I need some space, that’s all.” 

Sergio swallows hard, his heart weighing heavy within his chest. “From me?” 

“No,” Raquel interjects immediately, but her eyes tell a completely different story.

“Then what?” 

“I’m going to be out of town for a while,” she says, avoiding his question completely as she brushes past him, “Mama and Paula, too. Laura has a holiday home on the coast, so we’ll probably head there until…” 

She stops herself, meeting Sergio’s gaze for a fleeting moment, and it seems as though she’s about to say something. _To explain herself, even._

But, she looks away seconds later, mumbling _‘no lo se’_ so quietly that it’s almost inaudible. 

Sergio starts to follow her footsteps, quickening his pace so that he overtakes her, standing before her again. “What about work?” 

“I’ve got holidays to take.” 

“And Paula? _School?”_

“I’ll figure something out.” 

“Right,” Sergio mouths, his voice barely surpassing a whisper. He doesn’t understand where all of this is coming from, and before his better judgement can kick in and stop him, he’s voicing the very same. “I don’t get it,” he murmurs, “earlier, in the restaurant, we were...we were fine.” 

“Fine?” Raquel says incredulously, but there’s no aggression to her tone. Instead, her bottom lip trembles subtly, but she wipes at her eyes before the tears materialise. “You call that fine? We could barely look at each other.” 

“No,” Sergio mumbles, clenching his jaw as he tries to maintain his own composure, “no, _you_ couldn’t look at _me.”_ He shakes his head, debating whether or not to reach out, to take hold of her hand and ask her for the _hundredth_ time what the _hell_ is going on. 

But, before he even gets the chance to do so, Raquel has her back to him, grabbing her bag from the floor and slinging it over her shoulder in a hurried fashion. “We can talk when I get back, okay?” 

“Raquel, I—” 

“Please, Sergio,” she implores, seemingly desperate for his cooperation at this point, _“please.”_ She takes a deep breath, steadying the rise of her emotions before they surface. “I need time,” she says, finally meeting his gaze again. 

Her eyes are sincere and glazed with affliction, but her tone has hardened all the while, “just give me time.” 

Sergio nods sternly, swallowing back the desire to protest against her decision. He’s just exhausted at this point. 

Confused and hurt and downright _exhausted._

“So you waited on my doorstep tonight just to tell me you were leaving?” he asks, barely recognising the sound of his own voice. 

“I’m not leaving,” Raquel says, suddenly preoccupied with everything _but_ Sergio’s eye line, “I just need—” 

_“Space,_ yes...I get it,” Sergio mumbles, reluctant to hear the words again. He scuffs his shoe off the floor, shoving his hands into his pockets as he tries to find the words to ask when he’ll see her again. 

In the end though, “is that it, then?” is all that he manages, and it’s far colder than anything he _ever_ thought he’d say to Raquel in his entire lifetime. 

For a second, she looks as though she’s about to argue against his bitter approach. To _beg_ him to stop being ridiculous and start being honest with her.

But, it’s simply Sergio’s delusions, as short-lived as ever, and instead she starts to rummage around in the bag that hangs from her shoulder. 

“I also wanted to give this back to you,” she discloses, pulling a handful of folded material out of her bag and holding it out towards him. “It’s the, uh...it’s the t-shirt you let me wear after we’d...I spilt takeout down mine, remember?” 

“I remember,” Sergio says, taking it from her as he swallows down the lump in his throat. 

It’s the t-shirt from the night that she told him about Suárez. They had sex on the floor of his apartment, and she’d kissedhim as he was inside of her, making him feel closer to a person than he’d ever felt before.

How is it so that the very _same_ person is standing before him now, and they couldn’t feel _further apart?_

“I’ll, uh…” Raquel pauses, shrugging the bag back up onto her arm, “I’ll call you.”

Sergio shrugs, holding his hand up to communicate his feigned carelessness. “Whatever you want,” he says, refusing himself the right to show any kind of raw emotion. 

“Okay,” Raquel mumbles back, “goodnight, then.” 

“Goodnight,” Sergio replies, well aware of the fact that he’s looking beyond her at this point, his gaze set on the door that she’s about to walk out of.

He loves her, he really does. 

And yet, he watches her go.

________________________________

Raquel knew that the very minute she left that table, she wasn’t going to be returning. 

She thought of herself as a resilient woman. A _strong_ one, even. But, it was going to take a lot more than resilience and strength to get through an evening of watching Sergio treat another woman the very way that he’d been treating her for _years,_ all whilst she spent _her_ evening with another man. 

Ever since she’d seen Ágata and Mónica on Sunday, her thoughts had been moving at a hundred miles per minute, and sitting there with Suárez by her side and Lucía before her just confirmed every single feeling that she’d been desperately trying to suppress. 

She wasn’t okay seeing Sergio with someone else. 

More than that, actually. 

_She wanted to be with Sergio, herself._

After years of seeing other people, dating other people, _sleeping with_ other people, the most crucial realisation had dawned upon her in that restaurant tonight - Raquel hadn’t _ever_ had to experience Sergio doing the same. Throughout their whole six years of friendship, her best friend hadn’t done so much as _look_ at another woman, never mind actually _date_ one. 

And, being witness to such only confirmed the very feelings she’d been trying to ignore. The very feelings that had resurfaced the moment she made the _foolish_ decision to start sleeping with him. 

For two months now, Raquel had experienced Sergio in a completely different way. She had seen him in a light far realer than she ever could have envisaged, and it had fucked with both her head and her heart in an unimaginable way. 

After all these years, she thought that maybe she was past it - those feelings she’d dealt with so long ago, a ghost of the first few months of their friendship. 

But, she was wrong. 

Seeing him tonight with Lucía had only clarified that further, and she knew in that moment what she had to do. 

Of course, ending things with Suárez wasn’t easy. It was uncomfortable and awkward, a lot of misplaced blame and asking questions that she couldn’t necessarily answer.

Why him?

Why now? 

_Why Sergio?_

When Suárez approached the latter subject, it had caught Raquel completely off guard, but he was quick to see through her initial defences. 

“I _knew_ you had feelings for him,” he’d said, “I’ve known since Mónica and Daniel’s party.” 

“I didn’t even know _myself_ at that point,” Raquel had tried to argue, but there was no use. 

“That doesn’t matter,” Suárez retaliated, “because I’m pretty sure everyone could tell, regardless.” 

At the time, Raquel kind of felt like he was bluffing - playing the _I always knew_ card in a bid to shield his ego. Nobody ever wants to admit that they’ve been made to feel a total _fool,_ after all. 

And so, she’d let Suárez say whatever it was that he needed to say, and then she’d made a swift exit out of the restaurant’s back door, convincing a member of staff that her taxi was waiting thererather than outside of the main entrance. 

Of course, there was no taxi waiting for her, rather just a solitary trip to another bar within the vicinity and a phone call with her best friend, Mónica. 

“I don’t know what to tell you,” she’d said, her tone pitying. “But, you need to talk to him. I think he maybe feels the same way.” 

“He doesn’t,” Raquel had defended. 

“How do you know that?” 

“Just trust me.” 

Mónica sighed down the line. “That’s not a justification,” she’d stressed, but Raquel chose to ignore the remark, deciding that the matter simply wasn’t up for discussion. 

Although, she _could_ admit that her friend was right about one thing - she did need to speak to Sergio as soon as possible. But, not about her feelings. 

Just about her departure. 

She knew it from the very second she saw Sergio joking and laughing with Lucía at the table tonight - she desperately needed to take some time out. 

Raquel hadn’t ever been the jealous type. She hadn’t ever felt territorial, especially when it came to another _person_. But, sitting across from the two of them tonight, _even_ with Suárez by her side, she felt like an outsider, and the unfamiliar need she had to throw her arms around Sergio and claim him as her own wasn’t okay. 

It couldn’t ever be okay - not if she wanted their friendship to go back to the way it was. 

That’s exactly why she made the decision to leave. 

She would speak to her superiors at work, she would speak to Paula’s teachers at school, and then she’d take the very space she needed to get over her _best friend._

Only, just as she’d anticipated, Sergio couldn’t understand for the life of him as to why. He kept telling her that he was there for her, and that he always would be, completely oblivious to the fact that _that_ was the entire problem. 

And so, she kept refusing his kindness. She kept pushing him away until, gradually, Raquel witnessed the demise of his persistence. 

His patience transitioned into cold acceptance, his confusion into plain _hurt._

She’d offered to call him, hoping with every part of her being that he would beg her not to go, but no such thing took place. 

_“Whatever you want,”_ he’d said, and in that moment she truly felt as though he didn’t even _care_ whether she was around or not. 

Of course, she knew within herself that he probably _did_ care. She’d rejected his advances as he’d tried to help, and there was only so much he could take, but it was honestly for the best. 

Because, with some time and space apart from one another, she’d be able to get over him, and their friendship could perhaps return to what it used to be, long before she’d proposed the _foolish_ agreement that had given her a taste of everything she could never have. 

Staying here for the foreseeable would mean seeing Sergio’s brand new relationship blossom into everything that it had the potential to be, and everything that he so _deserved_ it to be, whilst she sat on the sidelines, watching and waiting, wondering why she’d been living in denial for so _fucking long._

It had taken sleeping with him to realise. It had taken both Suárez and Lucía to realise. It had taken so much _time_ to realise. 

She loved him, she really did. 

And that’s why she had to go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't give up on me just yet😭hahaha
> 
> Thank you so much for reading - words can't express my gratitude. 
> 
> Keep on streaming 'illicit affairs' to break your own heart, and I'll be back as soon as I can. 
> 
> You can find me on Twitter at @sergiosraquel 💓


	14. they lie, and they lie, and they lie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, lovely readers!!! 😊
> 
> Thank you so much for your patience when waiting for this chapter - I know it's only been like...13 days but, again, it's truly felt like a lifetime! It's just so heartwarming to see people are still enthusiastic about it 💛
> 
> Just as a quick disclaimer for this chapter (a couple of people have asked me this before, too) - Paula is 9 years old in my story, which is a bit older than she is in the show, I believe! I chose to make her this age for the simple fact that I find older children can hold more insightful conversation than younger children, but maybe this is just my experience with youngsters, hahah! 
> 
> Anyway, as always, I hope this story continues to deliver for people, and thank you so much for all of the support. 
> 
> All the love xx

Sergio remembers the first time Raquel showed up at midnight for his birthday. 

He remembers it _so_ vividly, in fact, that it almost feels as though it happened mere _days_ ago. 

It wasn’t often that he went to sleep before twelve, but on that one particular occasion, he’d felt too tired not to. It had been a terribly long day at work, and then his brother had dragged him to some _god awful_ comedy club later in the evening, that of which Sergio had agreed courteously, albeit regretfully _,_ to attend.

As they drove home, Andrés had offered to stay with Sergio until the clock struck midnight, proposing the idea of a drink together to see his younger brother’s birthday in. 

Of course, Sergio had politely declined, telling his sibling that there was simply _no part_ of getting older that was joyous enough to warrant him staying awake, especially given how tired he was feeling, and that he’d rather just call it a night.

And so, he’d clambered into bed shortly after his arrival home, placing his glasses neatly onto his bedside table and pulling the duvet over his pyjama-clad chest, entirely unprepared for the interruption of the intercom. 

At first, he’d assumed that the sounding of such was part of some ridiculous, lucid dream that he was experiencing, fairly certain that there could be no other explanation _._ Only upon hearing the third call did he decide to actually get out of bed and check, rubbing furiously at his eyes as he wondered what the _hell_ was going on. 

God, he can _hear_ himself now - the way he’d grumbled down the line, half expecting his brother at the other end. 

“Hello?”

“Sergio,” a familiar, female voice had replied, shocking his system entirely, awakening each and every one of his senses. “I’m so sorry, did I...did I wake you?” 

“I guess you kind of did,” Sergio had said without thinking, but it was evident in his tone that he didn’t mind in the slightest.

“I’m disappointed,” Raquel came back, her manner greatly teasing, “what kind of _idiot_ sleeps before midnight on their birthday?” 

He recalls feeling completely floored by her generosity and affectionfor him, especially given that they’d only known one another for around six months at this point. 

No one had ever made an effort to celebrate his birthday like this. 

Not even his own _parents._

“My...my birthday?” he’d asked, dumbfounded. “You’re here for my _birthday?”_

Raquel had simply laughed down the line in response. _He can still hear her saying it, now:_

“Just let me in, please.” 

Six years ago, he’d done exactly that, oblivious to the fact that he was silently agreeing to a brand new annual tradition - his best friend turning up at midnight _every year_ for his birthday, always with a gift for him to open, and _always_ with a bottle of wine for them to share. 

They’d talk into the night each time, exchanging both laughter and gratitude as Sergio thanked her for her gifts, just as she thanked him for his friendship in return. 

Last year, Sergio remembers wondering if he’d _ever_ tire of the feeling - watching and _waiting_ as the clock struck midnight, like a naively enthusiastic child at Christmas, _still_ surprised at the sound of her voice, no matter the fact that she turned up each year. 

“Do you think you’ll ever stop doing this?” he’d mused, catching her off guard as she poured their first glass of wine, “showing up at twelve every _365 days?”_

Raquel had just smiled fondly at him. “I’m a creature of habit, Sergio,” she’d said.

And, at the time, she’d meant it. 

But, he hadn’t heard from Raquel in _two whole weeks,_ nor was he entirely sure when he’d hear from her _again._ She’d asked for space, and he was giving her it. But, knowing that this year was the _first year_ that she was going to break that habit? Well, it was enough to convince him to cancel his birthday altogether.

Not that his brother was having any of it, of course. 

“What do you _mean_ it’s no big deal?” he’d asked him earlier in the day, slapping a light hand onto his arm, “it’s your birthday, little brother.” 

“It’s not even a special birthday,” Sergio had objected, much to Andrés’ despair. 

“Every birthday is special,” he’d assured him, _“especially_ with a good looking lady on your arm.” 

At that point, Sergio had to explain the fact that he hadn’t even _told_ Lucía that it was his birthday, excusing such with the fact that they hadn’t known one another long enough to justify him doing so.

Don’t get him wrong, things with Lucía were going well, or as well as they could be, at least. 

It had only been a couple of weeks, but with each conversation they had, Sergio felt like he was getting to know her better and better; more to the point, she was getting to know _him_ better and better. 

And, somehow, she was still interested - that was the part that _really_ blew his mind. 

He could talk to her about things that he would argue made him undesirable - his interest in antiques and their origin, his love for biochemistry, his fascinationwith origami - and she would continually offer him her undivided attention, feeding back with her _own_ quirks and passions.

It almost made him realise that there _was_ a life outside of his bubble with Raquel, and that there _were_ other women that would entertain him. Women that would want to be around him, just as Raquel had done. 

But, then he’d recall the very reason that he had _any_ confidence to go out with a woman in the first place. He’d recall the reason he felt worthy of affection and female attention, the first woman who _ever_ told him he was a catch. 

And, sure enough, he’d go back over again. 

Andrés had tried to convince him that it was, in fact, a _necessity_ for him to see Lucía on his birthday, arguing that he’d never get over his habit of seeing Raquel every year if he didn’t. 

“I don’t need some kind of _replacement_ memory,” Sergio had argued, “I’ll be absolutely fine.” 

And, for the majority of the last fortnight, he _had been._

But, the closer it got to midnight, the less he believed his own narrative. 

________________________________

Raquel closes her eyes and exhales unsteadily, trying to find a realm of calm as she anticipates the hands of the clock hitting twelve. 

Ever since she left Madrid for some time away, she’d found herself thinking about this moment, wondering what it would be like and whether she’d even have the guts to go through with it. 

And now, the moment is two minutes short of arriving. 

Two minutes short of midnight - Sergio’s birthday. 

The first birthday in six years that Raquel wouldn’t be present for. 

She’s been uptight all day, snapping at those she loves, contemplating whether or not she should call him, mulling over whether he’d even want to hear from her at _all_ after her disappearing act. 

But, not speaking to him on his birthday simply wasn’t an option, and neither was speaking to him at a reasonable _hour_ on his birthday.

Midnight is their tradition, and whether Sergio is expecting it or not, Raquel can’t quite bring herself to break that, yet. 

That’s why she’s sitting in the hammock of her sister’s holiday house porch, holding her phone close to her chest as her thumb hovers over his name in the contacts.

They haven’t spoken in _two weeks,_ and it’s honestly been the longest two weeks of Raquel’s life. 

The night that she left, she’d sent him a text message, fearful that he’d take her walking out of his front door as some kind of finality. 

_Raquel, 23:03: [I’m sorry. I just need some space.]_

_Sergio, 23:07: [I understand.]_

But, she wasn’t overly sure that he did. 

Even so, she’d contemplated reaching out to him on multiple occasions, only to talk herself out of it each and every time. After all, what _was it_ exactly that she even wanted to say? Could you really tell someone to give you space, only to then _break_ that space, yourself? 

Maybe not. 

But, his birthday was the exception. It **had** to be the exception. 

And so, she decides to go for it, her heart beating rapidly like a percussive instrument to the sound of the ringtone. 

“Hello?” a throaty voice sounds down the line eventually, thick with equal measures of sleep and confusion. “Raquel?” 

“Sergio,” she says, her voice small and disbelieving. It’s obvious given her tone that she wasn’t expecting anyone to pick up - especially given the hour at which she was calling. “I just wanted to, uh…” she takes a tremulous breath, giving herself the courage to disclose the very reason she called him in the first place. _“Shit,_ did I...did I wake you?”

“It’s only just gone midnight,” Sergio points out, but he sounds tired nonetheless, “so I, uh...I haven’t actually slept yet.” 

Raquel smiles to herself, reflecting upon the parallels of this very moment six years prior, and wondering if Sergio remembers as vividly as she does. “Of course,” she exhales, a slight laugh presenting itself amidst her breathing, “stayed up to see the big day in, huh?”

At that point, she hears the readjustment of limbs and the rustling of sheets - presumably Sergio getting into bed, or perhaps even _getting out_ of it. 

“You remembered,” he says, and the remark provokes a sinking feeling deep within Raquel’s stomach. 

_Did he honestly think that she would forget? Is that what the last six years had amounted to?_

“Of course I did,” she reassures gently, trying to dismiss his evidently lacking trust in their bond, nowadays. Her tone is benign in it’s approach, a bittersweet feeling to it as the words fall from her lips: 

_“Happy Birthday, Sergio.”_

There’s a momentary silence at the other end of the phone - mere seconds that feel nothing short of a lifetime - and Raquel feels compelled to replace such with anxious ramblings, telling Sergio that she _did,_ of course, have a gift for him, but that it was at home. 

It soon became apparent that the panicked mention of his present did _nothing_ to mitigate the awkwardness, rather just drawing both parties’ attention to the fact that neither of them had _ever_ been away for the other’s birthday before. 

“I...I do have one thing here with me now, though,” Raquel adds hurriedly. “I was going to post it out, but I, uh...I didn’t know…” she trails off, leaving the _‘if you’d want to hear from me’_ floating amidst the rest of the silence. “I’ll go and get it, hold on.” 

She leaves her phone behind on the hammock, making her way through the french doors and locating the small gift in question. Seeing it sitting there on the chest of drawers pulls at her already fragile heartstrings, but she doesn’t let herself dwell for too long, taking it outside and bringing the phone back to her ear in good time. 

“Are you still there?” Raquel asks, cringing at the vulnerability in her voice. 

“Still here.” 

“Okay, good...” she hesitates. “I-it’s nothing much, but…I-I’ll just send you a picture of it, okay?”

“Okay,” Sergio says agreeably, falling silent at the other end of the line as Raquel switches the call to speakerphone. 

She navigates onto the camera, positioning the object in the palm of her hand as she tries to fight off the memories, both vivid and paramount, that come with it. 

_“I’ll keep practicing,”_ she’d promised Sergio that night. 

“I, uh...this took a lot of practice,” she discloses down the phone, bringing the photograph up in the messaging app, “a-and a little bit of Paula’s help, too.” 

_“Until I can make you one back.”_

“But, I...I finally made you one back.” 

And, with that, Raquel presses send, awaiting Sergio’s reaction to the little origami boat she’d made for him, that of which had taken _far_ more attempts than she’d care to admit to. 

She turns the speakerphone setting off, bringing the phone back to her ear and climbing back into the hammock, her heart skipping slightly as she practically _hears_ the smile in Sergio’s voice. 

“Oh!” he exclaims with laughter, and Raquel can’t help but participate. 

“Do you like it?” she asks hopefully, a childlike grin on her face. 

“That’s... _wow,”_ Sergio draws out, “a lot better than your last attempt,” he adds. 

“Yes, _and the rest,”_ Raquel deadpans. “Do you know how soul-destroyingit is to ask your _nine year old_ daughter to help you follow a set of instructions?” 

Sergio chuckles at the other end of the line. “I can very much imagine,” he says, knowingly, “although I’m sure Paula took to the job very well.” 

“Of course she did,” Raquel smiles, pulling the throw that lies at her feet up and over her legs, “you know what she’s like.” 

“I do,” Sergio murmurs, his voice suddenly small and sad-sounding, “I do.”

Clearing her throat, Raquel ponders what to say next, honing in on the change of atmosphere. It’s like she can _hear_ what he wants to say next - that he misses Paula, that he misses _her._

_Does he miss her?_

And, even if he did - _would he ever say?_

She had completely pushed him away, after all, upping and leaving out of the blue with no real explanation. The look on his face that night as he asked her if _that was it_ \- it was unfamiliar and cold, jaded and final - and Raquel was fairly certain that the next time they communicated, it would be the very same. 

Unfamiliar. Cold. Jaded. Final. 

But, this? This was nothing of the sort.

Sergio’s reaction to the origami boat she’d made was so very familiar, so very _him._ He didn’t sound cold or jaded down the line, he sounded _warm_ and willing to talk. 

And, if Raquel leaving had been so _final,_ then why did every lingering silence feel like an open-ended question? 

“Raquel?” a voice sounds, pulling her out of her train of thought, “are you still there?” 

“Wh— _yes,_ s-sorry,” she stutters, “I’m still here. I’m just—” 

“Admiring your artwork?” Sergio suggests dryly, an edge of humour to his tone that puts an instant smile on Raquel’s face. 

“Exactly that,” she exhales with a laugh, reminded of the little origami boat placed by her side. She promptly decides to take it back indoors, kicking the throw off of her legs and climbing out of the hammock again. “I can, uh...I can post it out to you, if you’d like? Now that you’ve seen it.” 

“I mean, _sure,”_ Sergio mumbles, clearing his throat, “o-or you can just give it to me when you get home?”

Raquel falls silent, suddenly faced with the reality that at some point, she’s going to haveto face up to him. She’s going to _have_ to face up to how she feels. 

“I could,” she murmurs, “a-although I’m not sure when I...I don’t know when we’ll be back.” 

Silence greets her at the other end of the line, the seconds that pass feeling like minutesat a time. She places the origami boat back onto the chest of drawers, brushing away the dust that surrounds it with her fingertips. “Sergio?” she persists, awaiting his response with an anxious heart. “I’ll be back at some point...I just...I don’t—”

“Do you ever think about it?” he interrupts eventually, the question taking her by surprise. 

“Think about what?” Raquel frowns, feigning nonchalance as she walks back out of the french doors, opting to sit on the decking with her feet tucked into the sand. 

“The way things were before... _any_ of this,” Sergio says, “you know...this time last year.” 

The softness to his tone evokes an unwelcome reaction from Raquel, and she’s suddenly grateful for the fact that he can’t see her face; the damp in her eyes and the drought in her mouth. How does she say that _no,_ she wouldn’t give _anything_ to go back to this time last year?

How does she verbalise that _yes,_ she thinks about the way things used to be all of the time, but not in the way that Sergio expects her to?

She thinks about the first time she slept with him, and the irony of the way she told him _‘nothing personal’._ She thinks about the night they fucked in his car, and the time he went down on her in his living room. 

_Sure,_ she thinks about the way things were before. 

Before Suárez. 

BeforeLucía.

Raquel doesn’t want to go back to standing on the porch of his apartment block, waiting for him to answer the intercom at midnight. She wants to go back to every single moment in which they behaved like so much _more_ than best friends. 

“I, uh…” she starts, trying to rationalise her own racing thoughts, “I mean, sometimes I...” 

“Mama?” 

Frowning, Raquel twists her neck around, her gaze falling upon her seemingly bewildered daughter as she hovers by the entrance to the porch. “Paula?” she says, briefly apologising to Sergio for the interruption, “why aren’t you in bed, cariño?” 

“I heard you talking,” the youngster mumbles, rubbing at her eyes tiredly, “and I couldn’t sleep.” 

“Oh,” Raquel mouths, nodding in understanding. “Well, that’s okay,” she offers her daughter a reassuring smile, the phone still pressed against her ear, “you can come and sit with me, if you’d like?” 

Paula nods back, her bare feet padding across the porch decking as she takes a seat by her mother’s side, listening intently as Raquel apologies again to Sergio for the slight interruption. 

“It’s no problem, really,” he dismisses, casually, “I, uh...I guess you probably need to go.” 

“Oh.” 

_“Sí.”_

“I-I mean, I don’t have to…” Raquel explains, a little confused by the sudden decision, “but…” 

“No, no, it’s okay,” Sergio interrupts, apparently unwilling to hear the end of her sentence, “I...I should get some sleep, anyway.” 

Raquel swallows thickly. “Of course,” she lies, flummoxed by the sudden nature of his excuses. “Well, uh... _okay..._ I-I hope you have a good day tomorrow.” 

“Thanks,” Sergio says, genuine but concise, and it feels evident to Raquel that he simply doesn’t wish to take the conversation any further. “I’ll...I’ll see you when I see you, I guess.” 

Raquel’s heart sinks. “Sure,” she murmurs, trying not to overthink it too much. Perhaps he was just tired. Perhaps he simply felt she needed to tend to Paula’s needs instead of talking to him. 

Or, perhaps he just didn’t care to talk to her like he used to. 

“Goodnight, Raquel,” is the last thing she hears. 

And, before she even gets the chance to reciprocate the formality, the line goes dead, leaving Raquel to seek comfort in the sound of the ocean ahead, and the warmth of her daughter by her side. 

A momentary silence passes as she tries to figure out how to proceed, knowing _fine well_ that she wasn’t going to sleep tonight, but _also_ knowing that she needed to encourage Paula to do so. 

“Hey,” Raquel offers the youngster a small smile, holding a hand out with her palm facing upwards. “How about you come and sleep in my bed tonight?” she whispers, but Paula just looks back at her with a blank expression. 

“Why did he have to go?” 

“Who?” 

“Uncle Sergio.” 

Raquel sighs, dropping her hand back down with exasperation. “How do you know that I was talking to Uncle Sergio?” 

“I heard you say his name when I was outside of your door,” Paula shrugs. 

“Okay,” Raquel draws out, trying to suppress a smile at the unapologetic curiosity of her daughter, “well, he was tired, _that’s_ why he had to go.” She places a gentle hand beneath her daughter’s chin, ticking gently as she tells her, “just as _you_ should be.” 

Again, Paula just shrugs, almost dismissing her mother’s attempts at affection as the tranquil sound of the ocean fills out their otherwise silence. She bends her posture slightly, drawing small and thoughtful patterns in the sand by her feet. “Did we come here because Uncle Sergio upset you?”

“No, honey...no, not at all, _”_ Raquel frowns. “Why would you think that?” 

Paula doesn’t make eye-contact, too busy focusing on her miniature artwork. “We used to come here when Papa made you upset,” she points out, “remember?” 

Raquel closes her eyes, giving herself a second to process the memories that she (and evidently her daughter, too) still held within. After composing herself, she turns to Paula, running a comforting hand through her daughter’s hair. “This is nothing like that, okay?” she says, reassuringly. “I promise you, nothing at _all._ I’m fine, cariño, _vale?”_

The nine year old nods, a small smile playing on her lips, but she still doesn’t look wholly satisfied with Raquel’s answer. “And, Uncle Sergio?” 

“What about him?” 

Paula cocks her head to the side, truly interrogating her mother at this point. “Is _he_ okay?” 

“He’s fine, baby,” Raquel assures her, concluding that _‘I don’t really know how he is’_ wouldn’t suffice as an answer for such an inquisitive soul. 

At first, she seems satisfied, switching her focus to the sand at her feet and the ocean waves ahead, but then she’s taking another deep breath, and it’s telling enough that she’s about to say something else. 

“You know what I think, mama?” Paula offers, and the innocence of her demeanour melts her mother’s heart completely. 

“Go on,” Raquel says with a smile, nudging gently into her daughter’s small frame. 

Paula clutches at a handful of sand, looking up at Raquel with sincerity in her eyes. “I think Uncle Sergio liked you,” she shrugs, letting the grains slip lightly through her fingers. Her unassuming gaze drifts back towards the ocean, oblivious to her mother’s discomfort as she asks, “do you?”

Raquel’s mouth is slightly agape as she absorbs the query, trying to maintain composure by her daughter’s side. “I-I don’t know about that, cariño,” she quips, her tone light and dismissive as she buries her feet deeper into the sand. “Your Uncle Sergio and I...we were...w-we _are_ very good friends.”

“I know,” Paula replies quietly, an evident sadness to her voice as she remains captivated by the ocean, “he was the best.”

 _“Was?”_ Raquel questions, trying to remove all judgement from her tone. Perhaps her daughter was simply getting her tenses mixed up. _She is only nine, after all._

Paula doesn’t seem to falter, though, rather just nodding confidently as her features gather to form a melancholy expression. “Yeah,” she mumbles, “he doesn’t come to our house much, anymore.” 

A feeling of guilt washes over Raquel, far stronger than any wave reaching out to the shore that she’s looking out upon. It’s _her fault,_ she thinks. _She pulled him in, and then she pushed him away. She had him, if only by a thread, and then she let him go._

How could she _possibly_ explain that to _anyone_ _at_ _all,_ let alone her own daughter? 

“Right,” Raquel mumbles, pitifully. “I-I mean, he _is_ very busy, cariño, you know? He has work, a-and then stuff to do _outside_ of work, such as—”

“Abuela told me I’m not going to see him much anymore,” Paula interrupts solemnly, a crestfallen expression on her face as she looks up at Raquel. “Is that true?” 

Raquel’s jaw tightens involuntarily as she experiences a moment of anger towards her mother, but it dissipates just as quickly as it arrives. She _had_ told Marivi what happened between herself and Sergio, and when asked if she could ever see their friendship going back to the way it used to be, Raquel had been completely honest in her response. 

_She just didn’t know._

And, truthfully, _she still doesn’t._

It’s something she’d told her mother in confidence, of course, under the somewhat _cruel_ assumption that Marívi would forget anyway. Not once had Raquel factored in the possibility that the information could _stick,_ let alone be passed on to Paula. 

“No,” Raquel exhales, wrapping a reassuring arm around the youngster, “no, that’s not true, cariño.” 

“It’s not?” 

“No, baby,” she lies through her uncertainty, cuddling her daughter in a little bit closer, “no, it’s not.” 

Paula nestles her head into the space between Raquel’s shoulder and neck, and Raquel appreciates the added warmth as the sea breeze joins forces with the feeling of Sergio’s absence, sending a subtle chill down her spine. 

“You should’ve asked him to come here with us, mama,” Paula suggests innocently, still drawn in by the ocean waves that rush out to greet them, “I miss him.” 

Raquel nods, her cheek brushing tentatively against the softness of her daughter’s brown hair. “Yeah,” she murmurs, feeling the weight of the words heavy within her chest. 

It had been two whole weeks since she’d last seen Sergio in the flesh. 

Two whole weeks worth of time to get over him, and yet she felt stronger than she ever had before. 

Turning her head ever-so-slightly, she presses her lips to the top of Paula’s forehead, taking solace in the non-judgemental space that she unintentionally held for her mother. “Me too, baby,” Raquel mumbles into her hair, swallowing back the threat of a lump in her throat as she says it again.

_“Me too.”_

And, in that moment, she knows what it is that she needs to do. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for sticking with me! 
> 
> Let me know what you think (if you wish), because it makes my week to hear what you all have to say :)
> 
> And, of course, blast 'illicit affairs' at full volume until I'm back with chapter 15!! 
> 
> You can find me on Twitter at @sergiosraquel 💓


	15. don't call me kid, don't call me baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, my loves<3 
> 
> Once again, I want to thank you all from the bottom of my heart for the love, support and encouragement for this story. It never fails to blow my mind when there are so many incredible stories out there in this fandom, and you guys choose to engage with this one. It's madness, it's touching, and it makes my heart f*cking burst♥️ thank you, thank you, thank you. 
> 
> If you ever leave a comment, be it on here or twitter, and I don't respond to it, I am so sorry, but please know that hearing what you think gives me so much joy and motivation, I can't even put it into words.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it...it's been a looong time coming.

As birthdays go, Sergio couldn’t really complain about this one. 

Well, he _shouldn’t_ at least. 

In typical _Andrés_ style, his brother had taken it upon himself to tell Lucía, which led to a particularly awkward conversation between the two of them as Sergio did his best to explain why he hadn’t felt it necessary to tell her in the first place. 

Luckily, Lucía chose not to dwell on it, accepting that it was just another one of Sergio’s humble and self-depreciating actions and rather focusing on making the most of celebrating his day. 

She’d insisted on taking him out for lunch, and he’d politely accepted after a substantial amount of back and forth, only upon the condition that she didn’t inform _any_ of the restaurant staff that it was his birthday. 

“I don’t want _anybody_ singing to me, okay?” Sergio had insisted as he nudged his glasses up his nose, “especially not in a restaurant full of people.” 

“Okay,” Lucía smiled, rolling her eyes fondly, “how does Hanoi sound?” 

Sergio’s mouth had gone dry at the very suggestion, and so he quickly dismissed such with the feeble excuse that he’d been there _way_ too much recently. 

“Exactly,” Lucía had said, “because it’s your favourite, right?” 

And, she was right. Hanoi was his favourite. _But, only because of Raquel._

It was _their_ favourite. 

He’d managed to talk Lucía out of taking him there, but whilst she selected somewhere else for them to go with unmistakable enthusiasm, Sergio found himself wondering if this was the way that it was _always_ going to be - facing up to constant reminders of Raquel, and having a physical reaction to such each time. 

Even if he rationalised the thoughts in his head or searched for some kind of distraction, he couldn’t seem to stop his stomach dropping or his heart skipping a beat whenever something even _loosely_ associated with her was brought to his attention. 

Still, he managed to have a relatively nice afternoon with Lucía, putting Raquel as far back in his mind as he possibly could. It was a constant reminder of his decision to move forward now, no matter how hard it would be. 

Raquel had told him on the phone that she didn’t know when she’d be coming home, but she’d made it pretty clear that she had no intentions of it being anytime soon. 

What was he supposed to do? _Just wait?_

He’d spent six years waiting for her, and these days, he has someone waiting for _him._

Someone _choosing_ him. 

It’s a fulfilling feeling, _of course_ , but sometimes a little overwhelming, too - especially given that it’s still early days. 

That’s why, when it comes to the evening of his birthday, Sergio opts to spend it alone, despite both Lucía _and_ Andrésoffering their company. He insists to the former that going out for lunch is _more_ than enough, and she really needn’t do any more. 

As for his brother? Well, he just gets a resounding no. 

“So, what are you going to do?” Andrés scoffs down the phone, “sit in and play chess with _yourself?”_

Sergio rolls his eyes as he settles back onto the sofa in his loungewear, nudging his glasses back up his nose. “Remember that comedy club we went to a few years back?” he asks, thoughtfully. 

“Of course,” Andrés replies. 

“You should’ve had a slot,” Sergio huffs, his tone thick with sarcasm. “Get off my case.” 

The elder sibling laughs heartily down the line, ever-amused by Sergio’s quick witted bite. “I’m just _saying,_ ” he draws out, “your birthdays are getting more depressing by the year.”

“I’m getting _older_ by the year _,_ Andrés,” Sergio retorts, “it _is_ depressing. Besides, you know I like my own…” he trails off, frowning slightly as his ears tune into a knocking sound nearby.

_Was someone at the door?_

“Sorry,” he mumbles down the line, shaking his head in confusion, “I, uh...I thought I heard…”

_And, there it is again._

Reluctantly, Sergio pushes himself up off the sofa, his brow furrowed as he keeps the phone to his ear. 

“Andrés _listen to me,_ ” he huffs, heading for the doorway and grabbing the door handle, “if I find you at the other side of this door, I’m going to—”

“Hi.”

Sergio stiffens up immediately, witness to the very _last person_ that he was expecting to see. His brother’s voice becomes increasingly distant, uttering things like _‘I can assure you it’s not me’_ and _‘oooh, is it your lady-friend?’_

“I, uh...Andrés, I have to go,” he mutters hurriedly, hanging up the phone and taking a deep, steadying breath. “Raquel…”

She smiles at him, although it barely reaches her eyes. “The guy at reception let me up,” she explains, trying for a lighter tone, “I guess he’s seen me enough times to know who I am.” 

Sergio nods, still a little dumbfounded by her arrival. “I guess so,” he mumbles. 

She holds his gaze for a second and he reciprocates the intensity, but eventually Raquel asks the obvious. “Can I...can I come in?”

Sighing, Sergio steps aside, granting her access to his apartment. They’d been here so many times now. 

_So_ many times. 

“I thought you...I thought you weren’t coming back for a while,” he says, instantly hearing the exhaustion in his own voice. 

Raquel places two bags down - her own handbag, and then the gift bag holding Sergio’s presents. “Yeah, well…” she says, making her way through to the living area, “I needed to talk to you.” 

Sergio nods slowly, clearing his throat. “What about?” 

Without so much as a second of hesitation, Raquel exhales heavily, looking Sergio directly in the eye. “Us.” 

He swallows hard, trying to feign nonchalance as he scratches just behind his neck. “What...what happened to the holiday home?” 

“I left,” Raquel says, well aware that she’s stating the obvious, “we, uh...we all did.”

Sergio raises his brow. “Paula was happy to leave?” 

“It was her that _wanted_ us to leave, to be honest,” Raquel says with a shrug. “She misses you.” 

Usually, such an admission would make Sergio’s heart soar - he _adores_ that girl, after all - but, this time around, all he’s left with is a question playing on his lips. Nudging at his glasses, he frowns at Raquel, his expression perplexed. “You left the holiday home because...because _Paula_ missed me?” he asks incredulously. 

Raquel breathes out a wistful laugh, looking at him as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “No,” she says, her expression suddenly falling serious as she chews on her lower lip, “she, uh...she wanted us to leave because _I_ missed you.” 

Sergio opens his mouth to say something, his heart _willing_ him towards a moment of honesty in which he confesses that he’s missed her too, but his head interjects, simply not allowing it. “I see,” he mumbles, awkwardly. 

“It, uh…” Raquel hesitates, her gaze falling to the floor as she seems to turn in on herself a little, “it kind of feels like all I do these days,” she mumbles. “I just...I just miss you. I miss you all the time.” 

Sergio sighs, tiredly. _“Raquel—”_

“You were right,” she continues, apparently determined to say whatever it is that she came to say. “The night that I split up with Suárez, a-and I showed up here…”

Sergio’s face hardens as he recalls the way he tried to get her to open up that night, only for her to push him away. “What about it?” he asks, resting his eye-line at her level.

“I wasn’t there to tell you about Suárez...o-or to tell you how _nice_ Lucía was,” Raquel discloses, solemnly. 

She has this look of anxious determination about her that unnerves Sergio slightly, each and every one of his senses telling him that, whatever this conversation was going to be, he certainly wasn’t prepared for it. 

“How are you, uh...how are you feeling about that?” he asks, scratching at the corner of his eye as he tries to regain some kind of control over the direction of the conversation, “about you and Suárez, I mean.” 

“I’m not here to talk about him.” 

Sergio swallows, feeling firmly put in his place. “Right,” he mumbles towards the ground, suddenly feeling a silent pressure to instill some kind of normality between them. “How’s your mother do—” 

“Stop it,” Raquel cuts in, abruptly. She runs a hand through her hair, looking at him with pleading eyes, “stop...stop _acting_ like everything’s fine. Nothing about the way that we are right now is anywhere _near_ fine.” 

Sergio lifts his gaze from the floor, taken aback by her sudden admission. “You think I don’t know that?” he says through gritted teeth, feeling his own anger begin to surface. “I don’t know _how_ to act, Raquel, I-I can barely keep _up_ with...with who it is that you want me to be.”

“What?” Raquel asks, her brow furrowed, “Sergio, I...I don’t want you to be anyone but _yourself_ —”

“Well, it certainly doesn’t feel that way,” he says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. He desperately doesn’t want to lose his temper with her, but he feels at a loss as to what it is that he should do. “What am I to you, Raquel? _Hm?_ Your friend? Just someone that you slept with? A…a _fling_ that you regret?”

“I don’t regret it—”

“No?” Sergio persists, his voice catching in his throat, “because it has _ruined us_ , Raquel...it's ruined us.” He takes a deep breath, trying to regain his composure as he looks at her with a pleading expression. “What did you even come here for?” 

Raquel stares back at him, and he can see the glaze of pent up emotion clouding her eyes as the pair immerse themselves in the silence. It feels like a lifetime passes, realistically only _seconds_ , before she finally decides to speak her truth.

“Because I want _you,_ Sergio.”

Her voice is a paradox in the way that it shakes, yet delivers with such certainty. She looks momentarily taken aback by her own admission, but she stands her ground regardless, shaking her head at him as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m here because I...I want _us_.” 

Sergio blinks at her vacantly, his entire body rejecting the words and their false nature. “What?” he asks, completely dumbfounded, “what do you—”

“I’m in love with you,” Raquel interrupts, the words like a physical weight off her chest as she exhales unsteadily. She reaches for his hand, her eyes scanning his face for a reaction as their fingers touch, and she’s seemingly helpless to do anything but say it again. “I’m in love with you.” 

It’s Sergio’s turn to shake his head this time around, his mouth slightly agape as he disconnects their hands reluctantly. He’s aware that she can probably _feel_ the hesitance in his fingertips as he pulls away, but he goes through with it anyway. 

_He can’t possibly put himself through this._

“Raquel,” Sergio says, turning his body to face away from her as he notes the unrecognisable nature of his troubled voice. “You, uh...you don’t know what you’re saying.” 

“I do.”

“You don’t.” 

Raquel steps before him, refusing his reluctance to have this conversation. “I know how I feel, Sergio,” she stresses, reaching out to grab his hand again, but Sergio shifts himself backwards before she gets the chance. 

“Please,” he mumbles tiredly, granting Raquel access to his gaze, “I don’t want to do this.” 

She frowns at him, saddened and perplexed as she opens her mouth to speak, but Sergio beats her to it. 

“I haven’t got it in me,” he breathes out dejectedly, nudging at his glasses as he starts to walk away, “not now.” 

Raquel sighs behind him, and Sergio can hear the slight break in her voice as she speaks. “If not now, thenwhen?” 

“Never, Raquel,” Sergio discloses, instantly regretting the sharpness of his tone. He turns back to face her, hopeful that she’ll see an unspoken apology in his eyes, but cautious of the fact that she may well see right through his defences. “We can’t have this conversation.” 

Raquel swallows hard. “Why not?”

“Because I’m...I’m seeing someone,” Sergio says, the words feeling all but natural to him as he forces them from his lips, “a-and I think you’re just…” he hesitates, pushing his hands beneath his glasses to rub at his eyes, “you’re just confused.” 

“Confused?”

“Yes, confused,” Sergio says, trying to keep ahold of his rational mind, “y-you’ve just split up with Suárez, you’ve been away for a little while, and—” 

“And _nothing,_ Sergio,” Raquel interrupts, shaking her head intensely as she takes a step towards him. “Nothing you’re saying has any relevance,” she continues, reaching out a hesitant hand and placing her palm gently against his face, “when it comes to the way that I feel about you.”

Sergio finds himself involuntarily leaning into her touch, willing his doubts away if only for a second. He wants to believe everything that she’s saying, he wants to believe that she really _does_ love him back in the very way he’s loved her for so long. 

Letting his guard down and sleeping with Raquel wasn’t a decision he’d taken lightly, and admittedly, it took him a little time. But, having to build that guard back up after she ended _whatever it was_ that they had? That took a strength that he simply couldn’t access a second time around, no matter the lingering temptation. 

He lifts his hand slowly, wrapping his fingers around her wrist and willing himself to push her away. “You don’t want me, Raquel,” he whispers, his voice small as he removes her hand from his face, “not really.” 

She frowns, searching his expression for answers. “I _do.”_

“You don’t.” 

“Sergio,I _—”_

“It’s...it's _different,_ I know,” he says, his hand still holding her wrist as her arm settles limply between them, “you’re not used to it, the whole _Lucía_ thing _._ I-it’ll take time, but—” 

“You really think that’s what this is about?” Raquel asks, disbelievingly. “You think I’m chasing you because you’re with _her?”_

At that, Sergio lets go of her wrist, watching as she lets her hand defeatedly fall to her side. “That’s exactly what I think, yes,” he murmurs, dropping his gaze towards the ground. 

“Well, you’re wrong,” Raquel assures him, confident despite the slight shake in her voice. She hooks her finger and thumb tenderly beneath his chin, turning his head to look at her. “You’re _wrong.”_

Sergio takes a short breath as he prepares to speak, ready to ask Raquel whether she truly felt that none of what she was saying had _anything_ to do with him and Lucía, but within a hesitant moment, he changes his mind.

What would be the point, after all? Putting himself through the humiliation of asking questions when, deep down, he already knows the answers. 

“I’m not, Raquel,” he mumbles defeatedly, clenching his jaw as watches her hand fall to her side again, “you know it, a-and I know it. If it wasn’t for Lucía, you and I wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

Raquel looks on as Sergio looks _away,_ unable to witness such a crystal clear depiction of hurt in her eyes. She doesn’t try to argue against it, and her silence only clarifies his thinking further. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, understanding better than ever as he starts to walk away from her, “I get it.” 

“No, you don’t,” Raquel protests, running an anxious hand through her hair. 

Sergio sighs, exhausted and unsure of how much more of this he can take. “Raquel—”

“You’re right,” she interrupts promptly, talking at first to the back of his head. “We probably wouldn’t be having this conversation if it wasn’t for her, b-but only because that’s what it took for me to open my...my _stupid_ mouth.” 

Sergio takes a wavering breath, trying desperately to ignore the impact that her words have on his heart rate. 

“But, deep down…” Raquel continues, “I’ve probably felt like this for...for a lot _longer_ than I’d care to admit.”

Turning to face her again, Sergio swallows back the lump in his throat. “How long?”

Raquel shrugs, a small smile on her face to mask the way her bottom lip trembles slightly. “A long time, Sergio,” she mumbles towards the ground, “probably the whole time I’ve known you.” 

Sergio‘s heart sinks. “The whole time?” he asks, his voice small and unfamiliar. 

“Honestly?” Raquel starts, finally meeting his gaze. _“Yes_. I just...I got pretty good at convincing myself otherwise.” 

Nodding slowly, Sergio immerses himself in the sudden silence, trying to digest everything that he’s being told. He doesn’t know what to think, he doesn’t know what to _believe,_ and above all, he simply doesn’t know what to say. 

God only _knows_ he’d thought about this moment time and time again, allowing his imagination the luxury of wondering what it would be like for Raquel to feel for him what he so _deeply_ felt for her. But, in his head, such a moment elicited feelings of immeasurable happiness and relief, adoration and belonging. 

She’d tell him that she loved him, he’d tell her that he felt the same, and the whole fucking _universe_ would align accordingly. 

At no point did Sergio envisage anything like this - the two of them standing in his apartment, barely able to look at one another. No happiness, no relief, and the adoration in his heart jagged at the edges, taunted by the notion of _too little, too late._

Raquel takes a step closer to him, an air of desperation about her as she searches for answers. “Well?” she pushes, the sound getting caught in her throat. “Aren’t you going to say something?” 

“I…” Sergio hesitates, closing in on himself, “I don’t know what it is that you want me to say.” 

Mirroring her action from earlier, Raquel reaches up to his face again, brushing her fingertips tenderly against his cheek in a movement _so_ sacred it was as though she believed it to be the last time. _“Anything.”_

This time, Sergio doesn’t lean into her touch. He doesn’t lock his fingers around her wrist, or push her hand away reluctantly. 

He just goes still - _completely_ still - looking _so_ intensely at this person that he loves _so much._ Silently, he reflects on the way she had his heart in her hands, and how he’d only _just managed_ to take some of it back. 

_And now this._

“Sergio?” she says, his name uttered like a prayer in question.

He brings his hand up to meet hers, brushing his fingertips ever-so-slightly against her knuckles as he exhales, his breathing unsteady. “You’re my best friend,” he murmurs, the words clawing past the lump in his throat. 

Raquel’s eyes flicker between his left and his right, over and over again. “And you’re mine,” she says, cautiously. 

Sergio nods against the palm of her hand. “I know,” he mouths, trying for a smile as he feels uninvited tears threatening his eyes, “and that’s how it has to stay.” 

Shaking her head slightly, Raquel’s expression is the picture of confusion - her brow furrowed and her eyes damp _._ “I don’t understand,” she says at first, scanning his face for answers, “why does it— _oh.”_

Sergio frowns, unsure of the conclusion she’s seemingly come to, only to hear her say: 

“You don’t feel the same.” 

She pulls her hand away from his face, leaving Sergio with no choice but to let go of hers as she laughs quietly to herself. 

_“Of course_ you don’t,” she mumbles, bringing her palm to her face in embarrassment. _“God,_ I...I don’t know what I was thinking, I just—” 

“I didn’t say that,” Sergio says, but his voice is quiet and his gaze is to the floor, failing to put a stop to Raquel’s ramblings. 

“I...I shouldn’t ever have come here,” she continues, “just _showing up_ like this on your birthday, I…”

“I didn’t say that!” 

The tone of Sergio’s voice takes himself by surprise as much as it does Raquel, loud and forthcoming, _almost_ shouting,but not quite. “I didn’t…” he hesitates, realising the implications of what he’s about to say, “you have _no idea_ how I feel.” 

Raquel looks at him with a gentle expression. “So, tell me then,” she utters, softly. 

“There’s no point.”

“There‘s _every_ point.” 

“There isn’t, Raquel, okay?” Sergio argues, his volume rising again as he runs a distressed hand through his hair. “All these years of...of dates, a-and boyfriends, and I’ve just stepped back and let it happen, because...because I thought that was what you wanted.” 

_“Sergio—"_

“And then you sleep with me,” he interrupts, unable to stop himself at this point, “ _multiple times,_ a-and you tell me that it’s nothing but _sex,_ okay? Nothing _personal._ So, I try to accept that, and I...I _do._ Because, you find someone else, and it has to end, and I take my back seat again.” 

Raquel swallows hard, shaking her head profusely. “You were _never_ in anykind of _back seat_ —”

“Except I _was_ ,” Sergio says, letting out a short, bittersweet laugh, “I was…a-and that’s fine.I even _put_ myself there a lot of the time, because I—”

“Because you thought that was what I wanted,” Raquel finishes the sentence quietly for him, suddenly understanding _._

Sergio shrugs, an air of helplessness about him as he tries to maintain his composure. “Exactly,” he murmurs. 

An air of silence makes itself known as Raquel walks to the sofa, sitting down and placing her head in her hands. They allow themselves to be taken under by a momentary quiet, only really breaking such with their breathing, which is synchronised despite it all. 

Taking the seat beside her, Sergio pushes his glasses back up his nose, exhaling heavily as he does so. “I guess I don’t know you as well as I thought,” he says in jest, but the joke falls flat, his attempt at laughter getting caught in his throat. 

“You know me better than anyone,” Raquel responds, earnestly. “I guess I just...I’ve barely known _myself_ the past few months.” 

Sergio shrugs, understanding present in his eyes. “We all go through stages like that,” he shares, honestly. “Sometimes I’ve got no idea who I am, o-or what it is that I want.” 

Nodding, Raquel turns her body to face him. “And now?” she asks, pushing a few strands of hair behind her ear. 

“Hm?” 

“What is it that you want now?” 

Sergio feels under sudden scrutiny, looking back at Raquel with a question in his eyes, trying to figure out what it is that she’s thinking. He blinks back at her, somehow unable to vocalise his thoughts despite them sitting on the tip of his tongue. 

The atmosphere surrounding them has changed, and he feels it with every breath that he takes, observant of the fact that Raquel’s gaze is alternating between his eyes and his lips. He knows that he should say something as she starts to lean closer, but he can feel his body betraying the good intentions he has, allowing the inevitable to happen. 

Sergio’s breath hitches as Raquel’s lips touch his own, adjusting to such a familiar feeling that he feared he was forgetting. He tries to hold back, his arms hanging awkwardly by his side as she starts to move her mouth against his, but his restraint dissipates within seconds, unable to stop himself from chasing the high that he can’t seem to find anywhere but here, with her.

Bringing his hands up to her face, Sergio deepens the kiss almost involuntarily, his heart working against his head as he lets Raquel captivate him so willingly. 

Her fingers brush against the nape of his neck as she wraps her arms around him, pushing her tongue fervently into his mouth and relishing in the way Sergio reciprocates the action. She lets her hands run down the length of his back, bunching up the material of his t-shirt and pulling it upover, but the chill that comes with the exposure of his skin is like an electric current, shocking Sergio back into reality. 

_His_ reality. 

And, this? _This isn’t it._

“Raquel,” he breathes against her lips, placing his hands firmly over hers and stopping the upward journey of his t-shirt. “Raquel, _s-stop.”_

She pulls back, but only _just,_ their noses still softly touching. “What’s wrong?”

Sergio starts to shake his head, his jaw locking into place as he looks away from her, no matter his reluctance. “We can’t,” he says quietly, pushing himself up off the sofa in one swift movement. 

Raquel’s eyes follow his motion, still dazed from the kiss. “Why not?” 

“Because, I’m _seeing someone!”_ Sergio says, stress present in his vocal as he reiterates the fact to _himself_ more than anything else. “And, this...i-it isn’t us,” he adds, the words leaving a bitter taste on his tongue as he exhales slowly, “...not anymore.” 

Standing up to face him, Raquel closes some of the distance between them, holding an expression that very nearly shatters Sergio’s heart into a million pieces. It’s like she’s pleading with him to give her a chance, completely unaware of the fact that she’s used up _every last one_ that he had to give. 

“It could be,” she offers weakly, looking on as Sergio’s lips turn up into a sad smile. 

“No,” he mumbles, swallowing back the lump in his throat, “no, it _could’ve_ been.” 

“I don’t…” Raquel starts, shaking her head, “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t expect you to,” Sergio interjects, “nor am I asking you to try.” He sighs, his gaze dropping to the floor as he readjusts his glasses. “But, I-I can’t keep playing this...this _back and forth.”_

_“Sergio…”_

“What’s to say that you won’t wake up tomorrow and change your mind?” he asks her honestly, the premise tying his stomach in knots as he imagines the feeling of having to lose her all over again. “What would happen to us then?” 

Raquel blinks harshly in a feeble attempt to clear her eyes, but the tears come through anyway. “I won’t change my mind,” she says, the pitch of her voice wavering with emotion. 

“You can’t promise that.” 

“I can!” 

“No, you _can’t,_ Raquel,” Sergio insists without a moment’s hesitation, but he’s instantly regretful of the anger in his tone. Slowly, he reaches out his hands, holding her face between them and wearing an apology in his eyes. 

“Our friendship is the…” he starts, closing his eyes to compose himself as he chooses to alter his wording, “... _you_ are the most important thing in the world to me. Do you see that?” 

Managing a small, quivering smile, Raquel nods against the warmth of his palm. “I see that,” she assures him. 

Sergio tries to smile back at her, but it’s evident that his heart is breaking. “So you’ll understand, then, why we can’t do this.”

Raquel shoulders rise and fall defeatedly, and Sergio hates the fact that he can _feel_ her sense of rejection. 

She looks back at him, an evident desperation to understand etched upon her face. “Don’t you want me?” she asks, her voice small, almost _powerless,_ as she speaks. 

Honestly, had it not been for the nature of the conversation, Sergio probably would’ve _laughed,_ continually floored by how oblivious she was to his feelings. He hates the fact that part of her obviously feels as though he’s doing this because he _wants_ to, or because his desires line up accordingly. 

And so, he makes a decision. 

No matter what happens going forward, he knows that this is it now. The walls that Sergio has spent the best part of _six years_ building are about to come crashing down. 

Looking back at her with an unmistakable intensity, his thumbs start to draw soft, circular patterns on her cheek, tears pooling in his eyes as he tries to maintain composure. 

“Raquel, _I love you,”_ he breathes out, finally uttering the _very_ three words that he’s held within for so long. “I...I don’t think I’ll ever love anyone the way that I love you.” 

Raquel turns her face into the palm of his hand, and Sergio takes the opportunity to brush away one of her tears with the pad of his thumb, mirroring the small smile on her face; equally touched and _torn apart._

“But, it’s better for us this way,” he continues, feeling the way she nods against his skin. “I just want my best friend back.” 

Holding his gaze, Raquel swallows back the remainder of her heartache, tightening her jaw as a means of regathering herself. “I can do that,” she chokes out.

Sergio exhales, his smile reaching the tears that pool in the corner of his eyes. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Raquel murmurs, reflecting the bittersweet nature of his expression as they let their emotions flow over onto their cheeks. _“Yeah,”_ she repeats. 

Moments pass as they sit before one another, just looking, and feeling, and _accepting,_ with Sergio still holding her face between his hands. He slowly lowers his head, closing his eyes as he presses a lingering kiss to her forehead, breathing her in unapologetically as he does so. 

“I’m sorry,” Raquel murmurs, a tear spilling over onto her cheek as Sergio pulls back to look at her. 

He wants to tell her that there’s no need to apologise. That nobody has _anything_ to be sorry for. That they’re on the same page now, and things will be okay. 

But, seeing how visibly hurt she is, and given how unquestionably hurt he _feels,_ all Sergio can manage is: 

“Me too.” 

And he _is._ He’s incredibly sorry - for _both_ of them, now. 

Raquel nods passively, offering him a small smile as she wipes ashamedly at her eyes. She gets to her feet and grabs her bag, making a point of leaving Sergio’s presents by the doorway. 

“I‘ll, uh...I hope you like them,” she says softly, gesturing her head towards the gift bag. 

Sergio smiles in return, fearful that if he opens his mouth to speak, he’ll end up asking her to stay. 

That’s why Raquel gets the last word, not saying that she’ll see him soon, or even that she’ll _call him_ \- she simply wishes him goodnight. 

Then, without waiting for him to return the verbal gesture, she leaves.

It’s strange, Sergio thinks, for an old weight to be alleviated as he _finally_ airs his feelings, only for a new and _heavier_ one to take its place - _the weight of letting go._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes. I'm...Imma go now... *dips* 
> 
> Thank you so so much for taking the time out to be here, reading this<3 
> 
> Let me know what you think, and keep torturing yourself with illicit affairs, of course. 
> 
> You can find me on twitter at @sergiosraquel 💓


	16. that you picked out just for him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *appears from hiding* ...Hey, everyone😅❤️
> 
> Wow...is all I can really say. The response to the last chapter was just above and beyond anything I could've ever anticipated, both on twitter and on here. Seriously, thank you from the bottom of my heart, I just wasn't expecting it at all. I'm sorry for any distress I may have caused, haha! 
> 
> If you left a comment and I haven't replied, I'm sincerely so sorry. I try and make time to respond now and again, but I'm pretty swept under with university work, so any spare time I _do_ have I figure is better spent writing the next chapter, lol! 
> 
> Your comments/reactions are what motivate me to keep going, especially during times like this past week or so where I've struggled with writers block, so thank you to anyone who leaves them, you really make a difference<3 
> 
> I hope this chapter is a little lighter than the last. Thank you to everyone who comes back each time to read, I can't stress how much it means to me. Enjoy!! xx

There wasn’t an hour that passed during which Sergio _didn't_ wake up last night. 

He’d settled back against his pillow on multiple occasions, honestly just _willing_ himself to go back to sleep, only to see the same moment play out like a movie on the back of his weary eyelids. 

_“I’m in love with you.”_

He can still feel the way her skin felt against his as she reached out to take his hand, he can still hear the slight tremor in her voice as she spoke, her gaze never faltering as she told him that the unrequited feelings he’d battled with for so long were, as a matter of fact, not unrequited _at all._

God only knows how many sleepless nights Sergio has faced in the past, tossing and turning, wondering _what if?_

_What if he just told her how he felt?_

_What if, somehow, she felt the same?_

He’d been under the foolish assumption that getting answers to those questions would bring him a sense of peace and fulfilment. That such answers would be the reason he _finally_ got a good night’s rest.

And yet, the very contrary had occurred - last night was probably the worst night’s sleep he’d endured in years. There was no sense of peace or fulfilment. All he felt throughout the early hours, all he still feels _now_ , despite a full day of futile distractions, is torn and severely unsettled. _Empty._

He sits rigidly on the sofa, having been unable to get comfortable ever since he returned from a long walk, cursing the way he can still make out the silhouette of her standing there, asking him to say something, _anything,_ and Sergio unable to deliver upon her request. 

As though rubbing at his eyes will rid him of the memory, he pushes his hands beneath his glasses, pressing with vigor against his eyelids as he exhales unsteadily. When he pulls his hands away, his gaze falls just to the left of the doorway, settling upon the bag of gifts left from the night before. 

After Raquel left last night, Sergio didn’t have the emotional strength to do so much as go near it, _let alone_ to open each present. If he’s being entirely honest, he still doesn’t have the strength to _now_. But, there’s something about his curiosity that is almost impossible to tame; perhaps something to do with the little opportunity he had to explore such as a child. 

For that reason, Sergio cautiously sits himself before the bag, swallowing hard as he lifts the gift-tag with gentle hands.

_‘Happy Birthday, Sergio._

_I really hope you like your gifts._

_Thanks for everything._

_All my love,_

_Raquel.’_

A small smile materialises on his face as he reads the handwritten message, his legs folded in front of him as he reaches into the bag, pulling out the small paper formation that sits on top of the other presents. 

_The origami boat._

He holds it between his finger and thumb, adjusting his glasses with his other hand as he observes the creation before him. It’s smaller than it looked in the photograph, Sergio thinks, but it’s a good effort nonetheless. 

As he places it to one side, he twists his neck to look at Raquel’s initialattempt, sitting somewhat pitifully amidst the rest of his work. Regardless of its poor form, Sergio has no intentions of replacing such with the new and improved paper boat - he’ll simply place them beside one another, a _homage_ of sorts to Raquel’s artistic improvement. 

Not that he knows when she’ll next get the chance to see it, of course. 

He exhales heavily, letting go of the physical weight that such a thought carries as he pulls his first wrapped gift out of the bag, a curious frown etched upon his face as he observes the shape of it. 

“Looks like a CD,” he mumbles to himself, eyebrows knitted together as he starts to peel away the folds of the paper. He can hear Raquel in his head, telling him to stop being so fucking _precise_ with the unwrapping of the gift, cracking the same old joke that she always does: 

_“This is why I bring your gifts at midnight, you know? To make sure you’ve got enough time to open them before the end of your birthday.”_

Sergio has gotten so used to the remark, he actually ended up finishing the sentence _for_ her last year, rolling his eyes fondly all the while. He finds himself doing the same this year, an involuntary, albeit bittersweet, smile breaking out on his face as he reflects on another one of their memories. 

Small to others, _monumental_ to him. 

A folded note falls out of the golden wrapping paper as he pulls at the final strip of sellotape, and as Sergio opens it up, his heart both bursts and _breaks_ as it dawns on him what his best friend has done - offering him a little explanation of each gift on paper, because she’s not there to explain in person this time. 

_‘To take your six star taxi service up to a solid seven.’_

Pulling a lightweight, plastic case out of the wrapping, Sergio’s smile reaches his eyes with an immediacy that he cannot control. 

It’s a CD - _‘The Best of Van Morrison’_ \- taking him straight back to that night in his car, singing by her side as she drunkenly chastised him for getting the lyrics wrong, the two of them laughing heartily, _unapologetically_. 

Flipping the case over, Sergio takes a brief look at the track listing, his eyes hovering naturally over the words by number six - _Brown Eyed Girl._ He blinks quickly, shaking his head as though that will help to rid his mind of the melody; a bittersweet mixture of Van Morrison’s song and the two of them together in the back of his car that night, soft exchanges of sounds and profanities. 

The next gift he takes out is a bottle of something, he can tell by the shape of it, and Sergio bets his entire _life_ it’s the red that they always drink, pulling away the paper to find that it is. 

75 centilitres of _Panoramico Rioja,_ just as she gifted him every year, only it’s never usually wrapped - she usually just arrives with it, ready to pour. 

They always open the bottle together, Raquel serving two glasses as they celebrate the very early hours of Sergio’s birthday, and that’s what makes setting it aside all the more difficult. 

This time, Sergio will slot the wine into the rack with plans to open it later. 

Perhaps with his brother. More likely _alone._

There are three gifts left in the bag - one of which is a box of his favourite sweets, and the second of which amuses him greatly - a vinyl record cleaning kit. 

_Found this in an outlet store, it had your name written all over it. I’m sure that Van Morrison record does nothing but collect dust when I’m not around._

Sergio shakes his head slightly at the false premise of the assumption, baffled by Raquel’s utterly oblivious nature. Doesn’t she know _anything at all_ when it comes to him? He listens to Van Morrison’s record more than _any_ of the other records put together, and it’s not necessarily because Sergio favours it above the rest. 

It’s because he favours the person who _showed him_ it. 

Setting the neatly boxed cleaning kit aside, he reaches into the bag for the final gift, feeling a certain fragility to it as he pulls it out. It’s as neatly wrapped as the rest have been, only this time, the paper note that comes falling out of the packaging doesn’t hold Raquel’s handwriting. 

It’s bigger, more child-like, and it says: 

_Happy Birthday, Uncle Sergio xx_

With his emotional state heightened as he contemplates Paula’s participation, Sergio brushes the tips of his fingers along the outline of the white frame, turning it over with careful hands and letting the reality before him settle in. 

Placed within a deep-box photo frame is a photograph taken from last Christmas - Sergio standing with his arm wrapped around Raquel, looking at her like she’s the very foundation of his happiness. Of his whole fucking _universe._

Raquel is beaming, not just with her lips, but with her eyes too, looking directly at the camera as her hand rests upon her daughter’s shoulder, with Sergio’s resting on the other. 

Paula is smiling shyly, dressed in an adorable, checked nightgown - completing the picture of a perfect family.

And then, inked in flawless calligraphy to the bottom left of the photograph, is a message: 

_Te queremos muchísimo._

His eyes settle upon the phrase for a short while, just reading and rereading it, letting his heart go through the motions - soaring, then sinking, then _shattering in two_ \- as he comes to terms with the fact that he’s pushed away the closest thing to a family unit that he’s ever had. 

________________________________

When Ágata presents Raquel with the opportunity to go out, the word _no_ simply isn’t in her vocabulary. 

In fact, Raquel is interjecting with a resounding _yes_ before her friend even has the chance to finish her sentence, heightening Ágata’s suspicion immediately. 

“What’s happened?” she asks down the phone. 

Raquel’s tone is unconvincingly pitched in return. “Nothing.” 

_“Nothing,”_ Ágata huffs back, practically verbalising the roll of her eyes. “You’re not even going to ask _where_ we’re going, no? O-or _who with?”_

Exhaling theatrically, Raquel lodges the phone between her ear and her shoulder, shooting Paula a discerning look as the youngster tries to grab sweets from the cupboard before lunch. “Where are we going, Ágata?” she deadpans amidst her parenting duties, _“who with?”_

Ever the overdramatic, the brunette clears her throat in preparation, taking a deep breath before sharing such. “Uh...me, _you_ , Sergio—” 

_“Sergio?”_ Raquel’s heart skips a beat as his name falls from her lips immediately, proposed like a question, flustered and panicked. 

_“No_ , of course not,” Ágata hits back matter-of-factly, leaving Raquel to release the breath she’d been holding. “But, your reaction was telling enough,” she adds, knowingly. “I _knew_ something was wrong. I mean, you didn’t answer a single one of my texts last night, _and_ it was his birthday, right?” 

_Right,_ Raquel thinks, aware that her friend knows her _far_ better than she’d ever like to admit. Still, it simply isn’t in her best interests to admit that right now.

“You don’t know _shit,”_ she jibes back, lying through her teeth. “What time are we going out?” 

“Seven-ish...maybe eight,” Ágata discloses down the line, “but we should be at yours for around six. It all depends on what time Món finishes work.” 

“Well, let’s hope she finishes earlier rather than later,” Raquel comments, “because I need a strong drink.” 

Ágata scoffs, incredulously. “You always need a strong drink,” she remarks, being the first person to elicit a small smile out of her friend today. 

“Touché,” Raquel grumbles back. _“Touché.”_

And, true to her word, Ágata arrives alongside Mónica at around six o’clock, not long after Raquel has settled Paula upstairs with Marívi, the two of them watching a movie. Of course, it doesn’t take long for her friends (or, more so, for _Ágata)_ to approach the subject they so desperately want to tackle. 

The subject that Raquel so desperately wants to _avoid._

“So, what happened?” Ágata asks, trying to be as nonchalant as possible, ignoring the look of disapproval that Mónica shoots in her direction. 

“What do you mean?” Raquel replies, her nonchalance _equally_ as pitiful. 

“Oh _come on,_ Raquel. You fall off the radar on Sergio’s _birthday_ of all days, you agree to us going out tonight before I even manage to ask the question, you very nearly _died_ when I mentioned his name earlier, and—”

“Yes, _alright,”_ Raquel interrupts, irritation present in her eyes as she holds her hands up. “We just...we had...we had _words,_ that’s all.” 

“What?” Mónica frowns, “you and Sergio?” 

“Yes, me and Sergio,” Raquel dismisses, taking a substantial swig of her wine. “It’s fine, we’re _fine.”_

Ágata tuts loudly. “Are you buying this, Món?” she asks, making herself comfortable on the sofa. 

“I mean, you did disappear for two weeks…” Mónica adds sheepishly, speaking behind her wine glass as she perches on the arm. 

“And then you came back on Sergio’s _birthday_ ,” Ágata chimes, eliciting a nod out of the blonde beside her.

“And _that.”_

“And _then_ nobody could get hold of you last—” 

“Have you two quite finished?” Raquel huffs, flicking her hair behind her shoulder as she curses her own sobriety in the present moment. “Really, _have you?”_ she repeats, slotting herself between the two of them. 

Mónica seems to soften further in response, shifting the focus of her hand from fiddling with her earring to resting on her friend’s knee. “We’re just worried about you,” she expresses, accompanied by an agreeable nod from Ágata. “We want you to be happy.” 

Swallowing hard, this time without any wine at all, Raquel’s gaze falls south, unable to offer her friend eye-contact as she says “we think he makes you happy, Raquel.” 

Honestly, if Raquel could muster up the energy, she’d address the fact that the two of them had evidently been discussing this behind her back when, but right now, it isn’t the pressing issue at hand for _anyone_ in this room. 

“He does,” is what she offers instead, her voice meek and her gaze still to the floor. Although she’s not making direct eye-contact with either of them, she can see the way her friends are looking enthusiastically at one another, an almost _comedic_ performance of widened eyes and optimistic grins. 

“Like...like _happy_ happy?” Mónica presses, hopefully. 

“Yes, _that_ kind of happy,” Raquel mumbles, her shoulders hunched over as she nurses her wine glass in a defeated manner, “not that it matters, now.” 

The hopeful aura within the room visually dissipates as Ágata frowns, trying to capture Raquel’s gaze. “What?” she asks, impatiently. “Says _who?”_

“Says _Sergio.”_

Ágata scoffs. “That’s _bull.”_

“It’s not.” 

“You’re telling me he doesn’t feel the same, no?” 

Raquel’s head instinctively wants to say _yes,_ opening her mouth to do so, but the words get caught in her throat as her heart plays out the rhythm of Sergio’s confession in her chest. 

_“I don’t think I’ll ever love anyone the way that I love you.”_

Clearing her throat, Raquel brings her glass to her lips. “I mean...he _does,_ he just...we’re just…” there’s a pause as she takes a hesitant sip of her wine, “I’m not what he needs right now.” 

“I don’t understand,” Ágata states bluntly, narrowing her eyes as an accompanying gesture. “He either wants to be with you or he doesn’t, right?” 

Mónica pulls a face. “I think it’s a little more complex than that, Ágata,” she digs, turning to face Raquel with compassion in her eyes. “I mean, i-it’s obvious he loves you...I think so, anyway.” 

Offering the blonde a small smile, Raquel shrugs somewhat helplessly. “Maybe he does,” she exhales, “I guess love just isn’t enough, sometimes.” 

Ágata clicks her tongue as she stands from the sofa, walking over to the mirror in a bid to scrutinise her appearance. “What does that even mean?” she asks incredulously, cocking her brow at Raquel through the mirror. She starts to brush at the edges of her lipstick with her index finger, “if you love someone, you make it work. If _he_ loves _you,_ then he’ll make it work.” 

Raquel’s gaze falls to the liquid in her glass, the movement of it almost hypnotic as she swirls it around gently. “I just wish he’d said something sooner,” she murmurs. 

“He probably wishes you did the same,” Mónica offers, placing a supportive hand on her friend’s knee. She sighs sympathetically, awaiting her friend’s eye-contact. “I don’t suppose turning you down was easyon him, either.” 

“But he’s got somebody else now,” Raquel says, her tone dejected. 

Ágata tuts, dramatically. “Give me a _break,_ honey,” she remarks, turning to face her friend, “the girl’s a wet _drip.”_

“She’s actually really nice,” Raquel shoots back, finishing off her wine in one swift gulp. She gets to her feet, checking her own hair in the mirror. “Have you even met her before?” 

“Don’t need to,” Ágata shrugs, “I just _know.”_

Raquel turns to Mónica with a roll of the eyes. “Of course you do,” she mumbles, taking her glass through to the kitchen area. 

She tries desperately to get the image out of her head - Sergio hovering by in his usual awkward manner as Raquel offers to get him a drink. 

_“What do you want?”_ she’d asked him at Mónica and Daniel’s flat-warming party, _“A beer? Some punch? A glass of wine?”_

He’d smiled back at her, always so kindly, always so unassuming, scratching at his brow as he chose between the two bottles that she held up, _“red, please.”_

It’s such a small memory, such a seemingly insignificant one, and yet somehow it pulls heavily on fragile heartstrings, leaving her wishing for that _very_ moment all over again. 

Only this time, she wouldn’t bother giving Suárez so much as a _hello,_ never mind an entire _evening’s_ worth of attention. 

“Taxis here!” a voice sounds from the living area, pulling Raquel abruptly out of her train of thought and back into her current reality. She rinses her glass out before placing it on the counter, making her way back through to the living area with a steadying breath. 

“Ready?” Mónica asks with an encouraging smile, holding her hand out for the brunette to take. 

“Ready,” Raquel smiles, accepting the physical invitation and expressing her gratitude with a light squeeze of Mónica’s hand. “Thanks for always being so understanding about Ser—” 

“No!” Mónica interrupts promptly, using her other hand to gesture for Raquel to stop. “He’s not part of the narrative tonight, _vale?”_

Raquel sighs tiredly, but a laugh escapes her nonetheless. She would have to at least _try_ to forget about him tonight - not only because she needed to for her own sanity, but also because her friends wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Fine,” she mumbles, rolling her eyes fondly at Mónica as they follow Ágata out of the door. _“Vale.”_

________________________________

Sergio doesn’t know what he’s doing here. 

_Well,_ he knows _exactly_ what he’s doing here, but at the same time, standing on her doorstep so awkwardly, so rigidly, and so fucking _anxiously_ \- it makes him wonder what in his right mind convinced him that _this_ , of all things, was the call to make. 

Not long after opening Raquel’s gifts, he found himself grabbing his car keys, and heading to the Murillo household. He didn’t stop to question whether or not it was the good, moral thing to do, or whether she’d even _want_ to see him after yesterday. He didn’t stop to question what it was that he wanted to say, or whether she’d want to hear it.

He just knew that he needed to see her; perhaps to thank her for the wonderful things she gifted him. Perhaps to say he got the message on the photograph, and he loves them both too. 

_So much._

Or perhaps he just needed some clarity on where he stood after yesterday. To say sorry. To say _anything_ that would ensure he wasn’t going to lose her for good. 

As the door opens, he clears his throat, ready to greet what he assumed would be a very _surprised_ Raquel. 

But, it isn’t Raquel who opens the door. 

“Sergio!” Marívi says contentedly, but her features soon drop as she starts to doubt her memory again. “Sorry, I…” she hesitates, scratching at the top of her head, “should I have been expecting you?” 

“Oh no, _no!”_ Sergio reassures her, dismissing the assumption with a wave of his hand, “I...I just came to see Raquel,” he explains, nudging at his glasses, uncomfortably, “but, uh...sh-she’s not expecting me, either.” 

“She’s not here, I’m afraid,” Marívi shares, frowning in distress as the cogs in her brain turn vigorously, “she’s out with friends...I-I’m sorry, I can’t recall who, exactly.” 

Despite his immediate disappointment, Sergio offers her a reassuring smile, careful not to cause her any further undue stress. “That’s okay,” he says, his voice quiet, but kind.

“I can write out a note if you like?” Marívi offers, “a-and tell her you called.”

“Really, it’s fine, I’ll just…” he hesitates, nudging his glasses back up his nose. Maybe seeing her so soon isn’t the best idea, anyway, given how raw everything still feels. 

For both of them, perhaps. _Definitely for him_.

“It’s...it’s fine,” Sergio says again, his arms hanging awkwardly by his sides as he gestures towards her with a nod. “Don’t forget to lock that door again, okay?” 

Marívi smiles at him, shaking her head fondly. “She’s trained you well, hasn’t she?” 

Sergio opens his mouth to respond, but he’s cut off by a shrill exclamation from behind the door, with Paula waving wildly at him as she squeezes past her grandmother. 

“Uncle Sergio!” she greets him, barely giving him the chance to process her arrival as she throws her little arms around his middle. 

He places his hands on her back, patting gently between her shoulders as she squeezes him affectionately. “Hey, Paula,” he says softly. 

She looks up at him through her long lashes, and Sergio catches her gaze as Marívi folds her arms across her chest, leaning against the doorframe. “I’ll get wrong off your mother,” she remarks, not that Paula is paying the _blindest_ bit of attention. “You’re supposed to be in bed,cariño.”

“Are you coming in?” Paula asks hopefully, dropping her arms from his waist and grabbing one of his hands instead. “Abuela, can he come in?” 

Marívi and Sergio share a look, the former shrugging her shoulders at him submissively. He doesn’t suppose she’d mind at all, but there are far greater reasons as to why he shouldn’t. As Marívi said, Raquel would expect Paula to be asleep by now - the last thing Sergio wants is to keep the youngster up against her mother’s wishes. 

He crouches down to her level, resting his hands on both of her arms as she blinks back at him, curiosity present in her eyes. 

“We could play the burger game again,” Paula offers with optimism, and Sergio is helpless to do anything but smile at her. 

“I don’t think your mother would be too impressed if she came back to find you and I yelling at your iPad, would she?” 

Paula grins at him, her little blush on her cheeks from the slight chill in the air. “Yelling at _each other,”_ she corrects him with a giggle. 

Sergio lifts one of his hands to readjust his glasses, nodding promptly at her. “Exactly,” he smiles. 

Quickly, the contentment in the youngster’s features dissipates, dissolving into sincerity as she looks back at Sergio. “I think she’d be really happy to see you,” she offers, “just like me.” 

Sergio lowers his head as he lets out a small laugh, thick with suppressed emotion, almost willing himself to give in to Paula’s naivety. “I’m happy to see you, too,” he tells her, choosing to brush past the comment about Raquel. 

“Why can’t you come in, then?” Paula sulks, jutting out her bottom lip and tugging at Sergio’s fingertips, gently. 

“Because—”

“Because it’s _way_ past your bedtime,” a voice sounds behind him, “that’s why.” 

Sergio feels his stomach flip, both terrified and reassured by the inebriating effect of her familiar tone on his heart rate. He stands from his crouched position as Paula glances up towards her mother, smiling with utmost innocence. 

“Máma, what is she doing up?” Raquel asks Marívi, although any sign of disapproval is entirely absent. 

“She _was_ in bed,” Marívi explains, “a-and then your friend arrived.”

Sergio’s expression speaks a thousand words - sheepish, awkward, _incredibly_ apologetic - and Raquel seems helpless to do anything but smile, even though he can tell she’s trying her level best not to. “I see,” she murmurs, before instructing her mother to take Paula back up to bed.

With a huff, the youngster tugs at Sergio’s arm, encouraging him to lean a little further down to her level. As he does so, she reaches up on her tip-toes, cupping her hands around her mouth and whispering into his ear, careful for Raquel not to hear. 

“I told you she’d be happy to see you.” 

A slight smile materialises on Sergio’s face as he raises his brow fondly at her, Raquel narrowing her eyes as the two of them watch her head back indoors with Marívi. 

“What did she say?” 

Sergio clears his throat, shoving his hands in his pockets as he turns to face Raquel. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he mumbles, the reality of their situation dawning on him all over again. He’s still hovering awkwardly on the doorstep, the air of silence between them suddenly louder than ever. “Y-your mother said that you were out.” 

Raquel nods. “I was.” 

“Right,” Sergio mutters, vacantly. “I don’t...I don’t think she was expecting you back so early.” 

“Well, I wasn’t supposed to be,” Raquel informs him, tucking her hair behind her ear as the evening breeze starts to take hold of it. “But, I wasn’t exactly having a _ball_ , so…”

Sergio looks back at her, his eyes glazed with an apology as he takes the unspoken blame for such. He inhales sharply, willing himself to tell her how sorry he is, how messy everything is up in his head, but the words die in his throat. 

“Are you okay?” Raquel asks cautiously, filling the silence on Sergio’s behalf. 

“I’m fine,” he nods promptly, but it’s fairly easy to tell that he’s not - he can see that in the way Raquel is looking at him right now. 

Looking right _through_ him, if he’s being completely honest.

“A-actually,” he breathes out unsteadily, lifting a hand out of his pocket to readjust his glasses, “actually, I was...I was hoping we could talk.”

Raquel’s features, initially disconcerted, soften with relief as the words leave his mouth. “You want to talk?” she asks, and Sergio can hear the way she’s trying to suppress the hope that desperately wants to break through in her voice. 

“I-if that’s okay,” Sergio admits, although he still hasn’t thought through exactly what it is that he wants to say. 

Being here right now is simply his way of channelling the voice in his head, or more so his _heart_ , that keeps telling him that he needs to say _something_. Anything at all. 

Gesturing her head towards the front door, Raquel silently grants him the opportunity to do so, a small, albeit emotional, smile on her lips. 

“Let’s talk, then.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for being here and for reading this! 
> 
> Keep on streaming 'illicit affairs' (actually, stream the whole of _folklore: the long pod studio sessions_ \- it'll send your emotions WILD, ha!), and I'll try to come back as soon as I can.
> 
> You can find me on Twitter at @sergiosraquel 💓


	17. they show their truth one single time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, and happy (very late) December, my loves!!🎄
> 
> Here comes the broken record again, but really, I cannot apologise enough for the delays between updates right now. I've got like...six January deadlines, and writing this becomes increasingly difficult because I seem to do nothing but stare at a computer screen constantly😭 So, if you're still here reading despite the patience it requires, thank you from the bottom of my heart. I appreciate you all SO much, words cannot articulate❤️
> 
> I hope you all enjoy what I've written here, and I hope I haven't lost the ability to write altogether - I really want to do this story justice until the end, and there are only 3 chapters to go!! 
> 
> Thanks again for all the support. All the love xx

“Can I get you anything?” Raquel asks him courteously as she heads towards the kitchen. “Tea? Coffee?” 

Sergio shakes his head, waving his hand dismissively in her direction. “No need,” he says, offering her a small, cautious smile, “really, I...this won’t take long.” 

The living room is fairly dark, their only source of illumination being the corner lamp that was already dimly lit when they entered. And yet, he still sees the momentary flash of disappointment that presents itself on Raquel’s face as she turns to look at him, vanishing just as quickly as it arrived. “Oh,” she mouths, her brow sunken and her tone dejected, but she smiles back politely nonetheless, “okay.” 

They stand before one another, just over a metre between them as Sergio hovers closer to the window than he does the sofa, readjusting his glasses awkwardly as though he’s just entered Raquel’s house for the very first time. 

“You, uh…you look…” he hesitates, stumbling over his own words, “you look really nice.”

Raquel smiles softly, a blushed pink dusting her cheeks that Sergio notices, but doesn’t speak of. “You’re just used to seeing me in rags these days,” she jokes, her voice quiet. 

Sergio frowns, feigning a taken offence. “My t-shirts are _not_ rags,” he remarks, nudging at the frame of his glasses again as Raquel’s brief laughter is swallowed by prominent silence. 

He keeps experiencing waves of varying emotions - the anxiety of whatever is to come, mixed with the anticipation of a conversation that could change _everything_. The relief that she’d accepted his arrival, that she was willing to hear him out, combined with the frustration that they’d ever let it get to this point in the first place. 

And then there’s the guilt, of course. The guilt that comes with betraying his initial intentions, telling Raquel just short of 24 hours ago that they couldn’t do this. That he was _seeing_ someone. 

Sergio had always been a man of his word, or so he liked to think. He operated under a regime of organisation and structure, knowing his place with others, just as others knew their place with him. 

Routine was his thing, _not_ spontaneity. 

And yet, here he stands, having _spontaneously_ made his way to Raquel’s doorstep, intending to talk about everything that has happened between them since they _spontaneously_ started sleeping together. 

“You can sit down, you know?” Raquel offers, pulling him out of his internal identity crisis. 

“Right,” Sergio mumbles, walking to the sofa and sitting down somewhat warily, unwilling to let himself get too comfortable, “sorry.” 

Raquel cocks her head to the side, apparently unsure as to whether she should be smiling at him or frowning. “You seem stressed,” she remarks, using the kitchen door frame for balance as she starts to take off her shoes. 

Sergio swallows, cursing the lack of subtlety in his body language. “I do?” he tries, encouraging Raquel to raise her brow. 

“Yes,” she states matter-of-factly, “you do.” 

He nudges at the rim of his glasses with his finger and thumb. “Sorry,” he says again. 

“Stop apologising.” 

“Sorry,” Sergio mumbles, realising his mistake immediately and clearing his throat. “I, uh...I’m just not used to us being...being like _this_.” 

Raquel frowns at the vague nature of his statement, but the look in her eyes communicates that she knows _exactly_ what he means, placing her shoes neatly by the sofa and running a hand through her hair. “Well, you’re a _lot_ better at awkward silences than I am,” she offers, perhaps in an attempt to lighten the mood. 

Sergio furrows his brow. “Meaning?” 

“I said it in jest,” Raquel replies, perching herself on the arm of the sofa and waving a dismissive hand, “forget it.” 

_“Claro,”_ Sergio nods stoically, clearing his airways for the second time. There’s an awareness within that claws at his stomach, his throat, his _heart,_ telling him that he needs to say whatever it is that he came here to say. 

The problem is that he doesn’t quite know what that is. 

“I really appreciate the gifts, Raquel,” he manages to voice, glancing up at her with a small smile. 

Raquel mirrors his expression. “Even the Van Morrison CD?” 

“Especially that,” he smiles, readjusting his glasses. “It’s actually in my car already.” 

“Really?” Raquel asks with rising pitch, her grin widening as Sergio nods in confirmation. _“Wow.”_

“I’m a fan of his now.” 

“By choice?” 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” 

They share a moment of subtle laughter, both shaking their head at the other and breaking eye-contact shortly after. Raquel clasps her hands together as Sergio presses his palms against his knees, the elephant in the room making itself known all over again.

It’s overwhelming, Sergio thinks, the way their silences just keep getting _louder_ , begging either of them to give honesty another go. 

“Paula chose the photograph,” Raquel voices, her eyes still south-facing. _“You know,_ the one in the—” 

“In the frame,” Sergio finishes the sentence, hopeful that, by looking at the samespot of carpet as her, he would communicate successfully that he was awaiting her gaze. “I loved it.” 

Raquel nods, still staring at the floor, oblivious to the way Sergio watches the subtle shift in her throat as she swallows hard.

“It’s, uh…it’s kind of what brought me here, to be honest,” he confesses.

Finally, Raquel lifts her eyeline to meet his, cocking her brow at him. “A photo frame?” she jibes, scraping at her top lip with her teeth as she tries to suppress a teasing smile. “Not a car, no?” 

Sergio rolls his eyes, but the humour pulls at the corners of his mouth all the while. “Both,” he remarks, aiming for jest and mocking, but rather just stumbling upon sincerity. It seems he can’t help but be aware of all the time they’ve already wasted.

Not just tonight, but for the past _six years._

“You two are the closest thing to…” he hesitates, taking a slow and shaky breath, “...the closest thing to a family that I’ve ever known.”

Raquel blinks back at him, a crestfallen look upon her face as she awaits whatever it is that he’s going to say next. It’s evident that she has no idea what to expect from this conversation, or the direction in which it’s going to go, her eyes the perfect combination of fear and hope as she nods in understanding. 

“I really don’t want to lose that,” Sergio continues, digging his thumbs nervously into his palms, “I-I really don’t want to lose _you.”_

Raquel frowns. “Is this about last night?” she asks, her voice cautious when she speaks, “because if it is, then—”

“It’s not about last night,” Sergio mumbles, lifting a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. “It’s not...I-I don’t know what this is about. I just...I wasn’t particularly _fond_ o-of the way that we, uh...we left things.” 

“So it _is_ about last night?” Raquel questions, her brow furrowed in confusion. 

Sergio nudges at his glasses with his finger and thumb, clearing his throat in a somewhat formal manner, like he was about to announce the beginning of a class. “I said some...some _very_ foolish things. Things that I really didn’t mean, and—”

He pauses, witness to the way Raquel’s face drops as she digests his words, and it becomes clear to him within a matter of seconds what it is that she’s thinking. “Not... _no._ Not that, Raquel, I-I meant that part, I just…” 

“Sergio, I don’t mean to be rude, but...we’ve already been through this,” Raquel exhales, suddenly dejected by the direction of the conversation. 

She gets to her feet again, perhaps to head into the kitchen for a coffee, perhaps to just _see him out_. 

Without a moment’s hesitation, Sergio reaches out, grabbing her hand to stop her moving further away. “Please,” he says, watching as her gaze alternates between their touching skin and his pleading expression. “Please, Raquel, I…just sit down.” 

Reluctantly, she does as he asks, sitting beside him instead of on the arm of the sofa. She rests her elbows against her knees, running a hand through her hair in exasperation as she looks directly at the wall ahead. “You know,” she starts, _“shit,_ sometimes I wish we’d…” 

“Wish we’d _what?”_ Sergio interrupts, trying to hide the slight alarm in his voice as his head swims with possibilities. 

“I don’t know,” Raquel backtracks, exhaling heavily as she continues to hold her gaze away from his. “Sometimes I just...I wish we’d never slept together in the first place.” 

Her words linger between them like bad perfume, sitting boldly within their new-found silence. Sergio’s internal monologue starts to pull him in two opposing directions, partially agreeing that _yes,_ from a rational perspective, introducing sex to their dynamic added irreversable complications, _especially_ given the feelings that they were both already dealing with. 

But then, of course, there’s the other part of him - the part that wonders if they’d have ever reached this point without doing so. The part that doesn’t know if he could _ever_ regret being with Raquel like that, no matter the mess that has inevitably come of it. 

It saddens him to the very core that perhaps she doesn’t feel the same way about being with him. 

Unable to bring himself to pass a comment either way, Sergio just shrugs his shoulders, the motion somewhat robotic as he rethinks whether he should even be here tonight _at all._

Raquel hums an interrogative sound beside him. “Sergio?” she adds softly, obviously a little concerned by his silence. 

“I…” he starts, losing the footing of his words almost instantly, his gaze set to the floor. “Sorry, I just…I’m not really sure I ever could,” he confesses, his peripheral vision a witness to the way Raquel looks towards him. 

“You ever could…” she draws out, gentle in her approach, but posing the words like a question. 

“Regret it,” Sergio answers, slowly glancing back up at her, “o-or wish that it hadn’t happened,” he clarifies. “Not now that I know how you fee—” 

He stops himself, unwilling to make such bold assumptions about her feelings. Does he even have the _right_ after pushing her away upon her confession of such? 

“—how you _felt.”_

Raquel shakes her head, softly. “How I feel _,_ Sergio. It’s how I _feel,”_ she corrects him, a small crease forming at her brow as she closes her eyes and releases a weighted breath. “And I know last night you said that it’s best for us to be friends, which... _well_ , i-it’s fine, but…” she hesitates, searching his expression momentarily as a bittersweet laugh escapes her lips, “it’s going to take a little longer than twenty four hours for me to get over you.” 

Sergio takes a second to digest her words, nodding in understanding as he swallows the little pride he has left. “That’s just it though,” he says, struggling to make eye-contact with her, but forcing himself to do so, anyway. “You don’t...you don’t have to.” 

The crease in her brow intensifies as she frowns at him. “I...I don’t follow—” 

“I mean, y-you _can,”_ Sergio backtracks, stumbling over his words, “if that’s what you want to do. It’s just that I…” he inhales slowly, willing himself to be a little more forward with his feelings. “I don’t...I don’t think I want to get over you.” 

Raquel blinks back at him, her expression somewhat perplexed. “I don’t follow,” she says, averting her gaze from his and pressing the palm of her hand against her brow in confusion. “I don’t...last night you said that—”

“I said that I wanted my best friend back,” Sergio cuts in, “a-and I do, Raquel, I...I want _us_ back. I’m just…” he hesitates, clearing his throat more for show than anything else, “well, I...I don’t really know what ‘us’ _is_ these days.” 

“No,” Raquel sighs, a bittersweet smile presenting itself as she faces him again, “nor me...although, I guess you could call me an _ex_ now.”

Sergio scrunches his nose up, rolling his eyes at the glint of playfulness he deciphers from her tone. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t grateful for her ability to lighten any mood, even if now didn’t exactly feel like the time or place for it. “Absolutely not,” he retorts.

“Fine,” Raquel quips. “How about... _almost-_ lovers?” she nudges her shoulder into his, “you’d love that—”

“Now you’re just mocking me.” 

“— _so_ poetic.” 

“Will you stop?” 

Raquel smiles, but sincerity has clearly been restored in her features. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, looking at him intently as she draws an unspoken line beneath her teasing manner. She takes a breath, and whilst her expression is earnest, her tone is wavering and unconvinced. “Friends, then?” 

Sergio blinks back at her, nudging at his glasses awkwardly beneath the expectant nature of her gaze. “Honestly? I don’t really think we’re capable of that,” he says, swallowing hard as he opts to speak his truth, “I...I-I don’t think _I’m_ capable of that.” 

“No?” Raquel asks, her pitch a touching combination of both surprise and hope. 

“No,” Sergio confirms, swallowing hard. 

Letting out a breath that she didn’t know she was holding, Raquel shakes her head solemnly. “Then what?” she murmurs.

Sergio scratches at his beard, the movement cautiously executed as he sits otherwise still, trying to control his delicate, yet thudding heartbeat. Momentarily, he wonders whether his head is playing tricks on him, or whether Raquel really is leaning closer and closer, _inch by inch._

It’s only as he opens his mouth to speak that it dawns on him how truly intimate their space is now, and how _responsible_ he is for such. 

It hadn’t been Raquel instigating the new found closeness, it had been him _._

_Finally._

“I don’t want to be your friend,” he whispers, his eyes flickering between the hazel of her eyes and the rose of her lips, “I really don’t.” 

Raquel’s gaze mirrors his own, lowering slowly and then lifting again, trying to suppress a smile. “Good,” she says, her voice quietly compressed with emotion, “because I have no interest in being yours, either.” 

That’s all it takes to encourage Sergio to close the distance between them, kissing her almost experimentally at first, slow and gentle, his hands settled tentatively at her waist. 

He lets them journey upwards, the silk material of her black dress cool beneath his fingertips as he basks in the feeling of touching her like this again. 

Last night, when Raquel had kissed him, Sergio barely had the chance to even _process_ it, preoccupied with the moral battle of head versus heart. The whole thing had been so hurried, driven by Raquel’s will to prove that she knew what, or _whom,_ it was that she wanted now. 

This time, her mouth against his offers no ulterior motive. There’s no blind rush in the face of losing one another, no dancing around boundaries set by two friends introducing foolish benefits. 

All that presents itself is desire. 

Raquel places one of her hands on his cheek, the other clutching at the neckline of his t-shirt as she deepens the kiss, something Sergio does all but object to. 

As his own hands reach the tops of her shoulders, he toys with the thin straps of her dress, looping a finger beneath each of them to push them down, letting his mouth follow suit. The open-mouthed kisses he leaves across her collar bone are unapologetic in their desperation, and his hands embark on another journey, southern this time, squeezing at the bare flesh of her thighs as her dress rides further and further up. 

Honestly, Sergio isn’t entirely sure of what it is that turns him on more - the further exposure of Raquel’s skin, or the fact that she’s doing absolutely _nothing_ to prevent such. 

He detaches his lips from her skin, his breath hot against her neck as he starts to drag the blunt of his fingernails along the inside of her thighs, eliciting a low grunt of approval from the back of Raquel’s throat. 

She gradually spreads her legs that little bit wider for him, a shot of arousal electrifying Sergio’s bloodstream as she turns her head to capture his mouth again, the perfume that once resided on her neck now peppered across his lips for her to taste. 

They part only as Sergio edges his way off the sofa, dropping to his knees and positioning himself before her, and the heat that emanates from her core only lures his hands closer and closer. He looks to her for approval, only to find that her gaze is already awaiting him, encouraging him. 

_Daring him, even._

And so, he discards his glasses in one swift movement, placing them aside without breaking their eye-contact once, watching the smirk that toys at the corner of Raquel’s lips.

“Friends,” she mutters, surveying his every move as he hooks his hands through the top lining of her underwear, lifting herself slightly to grant him better access. 

His face the picture of concentration, Sergio pulls the lacey material from beneath her, sliding it down the length of her bare legs at a tantalisingly slow pace. 

Instead of rising to her prior remark, he latches his mouth to the inside of her thigh, tracing the exposed skin with wet kisses, led by the tip of his tongue as he works his way towards her.

He looks up at her through his lashes before ghosting his mouth over her center, both of their senses borderline intoxicated as Sergio edges his face closer, kissing lightly at the warmth between her legs. 

_“Sergio,”_ Raquel breathes out, his name almost inaudible on her lips, “ _please_.” 

The word ‘patience’ lies dormant on his tongue, but the temptation he feels to say it aloud is interrupted by a ringtone, his phone vibrating in his jeans.

Keen to rid them both of the distraction, Sergio pulls the device out of his back pocket, ready to toss it aside without so much as looking at the caller ID.

“Who is it?” Raquel asks, trying to focus with him still in such close proximity. 

Sergio throws the phone onto the sofa, swiftly averting his attention back to the woman he so desperately wants, but Raquel’s eyes catch a glimpse of the name on the phone.

“Lucía,” she says, trying to mask her frustration as she feels the moment they were sharing dissipate into thin air. “She doesn’t know you’re here, does she?” 

Sergio pulls away, settling back onto his knees as he looks at Raquel with a solemn and apologetic expression. The phone rings out, and he rests his forehead against her leg, cursing under his breath as he does so.

 _“Mierda,”_ he mumbles against her skin, relaxing only as she knots a gentle hand through his hair. 

“It’s okay,” she reassures him, borderline amused by his petulant groans and the way that he shakes his head against her. 

“I’m sorry…” 

“No, it’s _fine_ , _”_ Raquel continues, tugging lightly at his hair to lift his head, meeting his eye-line. “You should...you should talk to her. _God,_ we never should’ve done... _this,_ ” she says, gesturing comically towards the way her underwear is pooled around her ankles, “until you’d cleared things up, at least.” 

Sergio exhales, well aware that Raquel is right, but partially resenting her for being a voice of such reason. “I know,” he mumbles, repeating himself a second later, “I know.”

Offering him a wry smile, Raquel hands him his phone. “Let’s be honest,” she says dryly, “timing never really has been our strong point, has it?” 

They take a momentary pause to share a smile, both amused and _ashamed_ given the truth of the statement. 

“Not quite,” Sergio offers agreeably, shaking his head in a negative sign. He reaches for his glasses, reapplying them clumsily as he gets to his feet. “I’ll go and talk to her” 

“Wh— _now?”_

“Yes, now,” he shrugs, “i-if that’s okay?”

After a momentary hesitation, Raquel nods passively, obviously not wanting to let him go. She flops against the back of the sofa with a huff. “I should probably go up and see my _daughter_ , anyway,” she remarks, accentuating the word as though to remind herself of her parenting duties, not to mention their priority over her romantic pursuits. 

Sergio smiles bemusedly. “She’ll have questions for you,” he points out. 

“Doesn’t she always?” Raquel quips back, mirroring his contented expression. She leans forward, pulling the lace material back up her legs as Sergio holds his arms out, offering to help pull her to her feet.

Once she’s standing and their eyes are briefly locked, Sergio helps readjust the straps of her dress to their proper position. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” he says sincerely, his departing words as he lets go of her hands, turning to walk away. 

It’s only as he’s about to step foot into the hallway that she calls out his name, the tone of her voice drawing a paper thin line between question and _order_. 

He stops in his tracks, facing her again as he readjusts the glasses that frame his unassuming eyes. “Hm?” 

His best friend greets him with a newfound vulnerability, her eyes almost pleading as she shrugs her shoulders defenselessly, chewing on her bottom lip. “Please come back to me.” 

Sergio stands motionless for a second, probably coming across nigh-on vacant as he digests her heartfelt request. He’d been coming back to her for years now, over and over and _over._

It’s all he ever wants to do for the rest of his fucking life. 

As his lips upturn into a small smile, he starts to shake his head, the subtle sound of disbelieving laughter escaping his mouth. “Raquel, I…” he mumbles, soon realising that words of reassurance probably won’t suffice. 

Instead, he takes a few slow steps towards her, never really breaking their eye contact as he takes one of her hands in his own, lifting it slightly and toying with her fingers. His touch lingers there at first, eventually allowing his fingertips to wander, brushing over her knuckles, then tentatively up the length of her arm. 

As he reaches the tops of her shoulders, Raquel tilts her head slightly to one side, allowing Sergio access as his fingertips continue their steady journey up the side of her neck, eventually resting on the warmth of her cheek. 

They hold one another’s gaze momentarily, heat emanating from such a brief experience of contact, and Sergio feels borderline dizzy from the fact that they’ve even made it this far. That the woman he’s loved for all of this time is asking _him_ to come back to _her._

Then, he bows his head with his hand still resting on her face, pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of her nose, and then to her lips, lingering slightly longer for the latter. 

As he pulls away, Raquel’s eyelids are still fluttered closed, their breathing slow and synchronised as he awaits her gaze. Her chin is tilted slightly upwards, almost as though she’s expecting him to kiss her again, but her eyes slowly open in the wake of his absence. 

Swallowing hard, Sergio knots his fingers into a curl of her hair, playing with it gently as he speaks, his voice barely surpassing a whisper. 

“I’ll come back,” he tells her, his voice confident, yet quietly cautious, as he feels the weight of the honesty in his words.

It’s true. He will come back. 

He always, _always_ comes back to her. 

And as he leaves, she trusts the very same, knowing that this time, she’ll be here waiting for him, too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! 
> 
> Keep on streaming 'illicit affairs' (and the evermore album, too! Taylor Swift just said 'pain' this year and I am here for it, tbh) - and have the most wonderful Christmas. 
> 
> Thank you all for making 2020 a whole lot better for me!!
> 
> You can find me on Twitter at @sergiosraquel 💓


	18. look at this idiotic fool that you made me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feliz año nuevo, mis amores❤️
> 
> I wanted to start the year off with an update because, in all honesty, this fic was the making of my 2020. It brought me the LCDP fandom, and what an incredible, thoughtful, kind-spirited and supportive bunch you are. Had I not started this story, I never would've even made my twitter account, and I cannot imagine life without you guys. 
> 
> Thank you for everything, truly. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this chapter!
> 
> All the love xx

Raquel despairs as she catches a glimpse of the time, planting the side of her face into her pillow and exhaling heavily. 

Sleep had simply evaded her agenda tonight, no matter what she tried. 

And - _believe her_ \- she’d tried _so_ hard. 

Shortly after Sergio had left, Raquel made herself a coffee and got changed into her nightgown (technically just an oversized t-shirt, but something to sleep in, nonetheless), popping her head into the respective rooms of both her mother and her daughter to ensure they were okay. 

Marívi was out for the count, whilst Paula simply _pretended_ to be, her eyes widening the minute Raquel so much as nudged at her bedroom door. 

“I heard you talking downstairs,” she’d confessed when her mother approached her, pulling the duvet up to her chin. “Was it Uncle Sergio? Did he come into the house?” 

Raquel had rolled her eyes at the youngster’s inquisition, a small smile playing on her lips as she recalled Sergio’s earlier prediction of the questions her daughter would have. “Yes,” she’d whispered, placing a chaste kiss on Paula’s forehead, “he came into the house.” 

“And?” Paula had persisted, eliciting a frown from Raquel. 

_“And?”_

“Did you tell him, mama? What we talked about at the beach house?” 

Still unable to follow, Raquel stroked a tentative hand through her daughter’s hair, her brow slightly furrowed. “What did we talk about, cariño?”

Paula had snuggled her favourite teddy bear further into her chest, her eyelids giving in to the gentle lure of tiredness now that she’d spoken to her mother. “How much we both missed him,” she murmured. 

Raquel hadn’t bothered to suppress the smile on her face at that point, leaving another gentle kiss at Paula’s hairline. “You get some sleep, okay?” she’d responded, but her contented expression, had the youngster’s eyes been open to see it, was telling enough. 

By the time Raquel had brushed her teeth and clambered into bed, it was pushing 11PM, and she’d settled down into the covers immediately to get some rest herself. 

Only, three whole _hours_ had passed now, and she was _still_ wide awake, tossing and turning every which way in a bid to get more comfortable. 

Propping herself up onto her elbow, she reaches for her phone on the bedside table, convincing herself that she simply wants to check if either of her friends have reached out to her. 

_Mónica, 00:54: [WE MISS YOU]_

There’s a photograph attached too - Mónica _,_ Ágata, and some guy with his arm slung around Ágata’s shoulder, each of them holding a shot of something that looks _offensively_ green. Raquel both smiles _and_ rolls her eyes at it simultaneously, tapping out a response as she tries to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach that hones in on one thing only: 

The fact she’s heard _nothing_ from Sergio. 

Of course, part of her knows that she’s being irrational, especially given the ungodly hour that it is - why would he text her at two o’clock in the morning? More importantly, _what_ would he text her about? They’d covered all of the necessary ground earlier in the evening - that they didn’t want to be friends, and that Sergio needed to talk to Lucía before they could establish the _exact_ nature of their relationship now. 

He told her that he’d see her soon. He told her that he’d come back. So, realistically speaking, there was no reason for him to get in touch with her, and there was _definitely_ no reason for her to be laid awake trying to decipher _why._

And yet, her current situation stands to be the latter. 

With a frustrated huff of breath, Raquel kicks her legs over the edge of the bed, sitting up and running a hand through her slightly wayward hair. 

She checks the hour on her phone again before trudging downstairs in search of a sleeping remedy - maybe a tablet or a hot drink, perhaps even a whiskey - just _anything_ to leave her feeling drowsier than she does right now. 

She decides against turning any lights on until she makes it to the kitchen, cautious of the fact that her mother and daughter are still sleeping, and even _more_ cautious of such as the clatter of the drinks cabinet exposes her movements. 

Still, no one has arrived unannounced by the time she’s poured the whiskey, and Raquel silently congratulates herself on what she assumes to be a success, frowning at the fact that the car engine outside isn’t adhering to her unwritten rules. 

Curious as to who is heading out at this time of night, she flicks off the kitchen light, walking through to the living area with her whiskey in hand. Illuminated only by the streetlights, she peeks through the curtains, taking a look at what’s happening beyond the driveway of her house. 

It’s borderline _pathetic_ the way Raquel feels her heart sink as she realises it must just be a neighbour, puncturing a hole in her theory that maybe, just _maybe,_ Sergio had decided to come back to her at stupid o’clock in the morning. 

Why would he do that when he could just speak to her at a more humane hour like a normal adult? Why would he do that when he probably expected her to be sleeping, just as she _should_ be? 

Heading back upstairs, Raquel takes a sharp swig of her whiskey, closing her bedroom door as quietly as possible before she climbs back into bed, sighing profoundly. 

At what point had her best friend - so awkward, and so _very_ unassuming - turned her into some kind of insecure, lovesick _teenager?_

She nurses her whiskey thoughtfully, taking another significant gulp before her phone captures her attention, lighting up on the bedside table. 

Assuming that it’s probably Mónica responding to her last message, Raquel reaches for it slowly, catching a glimpse of the notification. She’s subject to the skip of a heartbeat when she realises who the text is really from, her reaction only further clarifying the prior thoughts she’d had about herself. 

_Sergio, 02:06: [Sorry to text so late, I know you’re probably sleeping. Are you free tomorrow evening for dinner?]_

_Sergio, 02:06: [Xx]_

Her smile broadens as the second message comes through, picturing so clearly in her head the way he probably debated how to approach texting her, pondering the formalities and informalities of such. 

Placing the whiskey tumbler down on the bedside table, she taps out a reply.

_Raquel, 02:08: [Don’t apologise, I wasn’t asleep. And yes, I’m free tomorrow. X]_

She contemplates sending another message asking how things went with Lucía, but Sergio’s quick response is enough to put her concern at bay.

_Sergio, 02:09: [It’s a date then. I’ll pick you up at six]_

_Sergio, 02:10: [Please try and get some sleep]_

_Sergio, 02:10 [Xx]_

Of course, Raquel tells herself it’s the whiskey that has her eyelids feeling significantly heavier, settling back onto her pillows as she sends a final reply. 

The smile etched upon her face is a result of partial contentment, partial _embarrassment_ at the fact that a text message from Sergio was the _real_ sleeping remedy that she’d been waiting for. 

Mostly just the former, though. 

Real and pure contentment. 

________________________________

Sergio can’t deny the nervousness he feels as he knocks on Raquel’s door, standing there in a fashion completely parallel to the night before - awkward, rigid, _anxious_ \- only this time, with flowers in his hand. 

He’d picked them from his brother’s front garden earlier in the afternoon, each selection a distraction from every question that Ándres fired his way. 

“So, you’re dating Raquel now?” he’d asked, his eyes as suspicious as they were intrigued.

“We’re not _dating,”_ Sergio had huffed back, his eyes scanning the selection of begonias in the hanging basket before him. “We just...we haven’t discussed _what_ we’re doing yet.” 

“But, you’re taking her on a date?” 

Sergio looked up from his flower arrangement at that point, readjusting his glasses. “Well... _yes.”_

“Couldn’t you just buy her some flowers?” Andrés had remarked, entirely unimpressed, _“you know,_ instead of wrecking my garden?” 

“No,” Sergio replied, sternly, “that’s something _you_ would do. Where’s the effort in that?” 

“You’ve known her for six years, little brother,” Andrés had said with a roll of the eyes, “you’re not meeting her for the first time. There’s no need for all this…” he’d paused, waving his hands around theatrically, “...this _faff.”_

And, he was right, Sergio knew that deep down. 

Raquel probably wouldn’t expect any kind of gesture from him, and she _certainly_ wouldn’t expect him to be standing on her doorstep feeling like he really _was_ meeting her for the first time. 

And yet, that’s exactly the level of his anxiety as she opens the door, especially when he sees how good she looks standing there before him. 

She’s dressed in a cream off-the-shoulder blouse with some high-rise cigarette trousers, cutting off just short of her open-toed heels. Her hair is styled in it’s usual half up, half down fashion, curled loosely, accessorised with her favourite necklace - the silver pendant engraved with the Palawan coordinates. 

Sergio has to ensure that his gaze doesn’t linger too long upon the exposed skin of her chest or the way that her trousers hug her waist a little _too_ perfectly, rather just settling his eyes at a level with her own. 

“Hey,” he mumbles shyly, nudging at his glasses with his free hand. 

She smiles back at him, her lips glossed with a nude brown shine. “Hi.”

“These are, uh…” Sergio hesitates, looking down at the freshly picked flowers in his hand and shifting them a little closer to her, “these are for you.” 

Raquel’s eyes widen, both taken aback and incredibly touched as she takes them from him, their fingers brushing slightly amidst the exchange. 

“Wow,” she mouths, bringing them towards her nose and inhaling the scent. “They’re beautiful,” she looks up, meeting his gaze “a-and _unnecessary_...you really didn’t have to.” 

Sergio shrugs coyly. “I wanted to.” 

“Well, I love them,” Raquel assures him, “thank you.” 

She calls for Marívi, who arrives in the hallway to take the flowers from her daughter, grinning wildly when she sees Sergio standing there in a shirt and tie. “You look very handsome,” she shares, turning to Raquel with evident enthusiasm, “he looks very handsome!” 

Raquel nods. “He does,” she says to her mother, turning to Sergio and raising her brow fondly. “You really do.” 

Giving himself a once over, Sergio shakes his head, the slight blush in his cheeks a telltale sign of his embarrassment. “I-I don’t look all that different to usual,” he mumbles modestly, “but, _you_ …”

It’s Raquel’s turn to blush as the compliment dies in Sergio’s throat, his adoring expression enough to communicate what it is that he wants to say. She steps out of the door, checking her bag to ensure she’s got everything that she needs, reeling off information to Marívi as she does so. 

“Paula should be back at around 8 o’clock, I left a note on the fridge to remind you. If he doesn’t show with her, you call me _right away, vale?”_

Her mother nods, her face the picture of concentration. _“Vale.”_

“Good,” Raquel says, gently. “I have a key, but…” she hesitates, glancing sideways at Sergio, “well, I don’t know what time I’ll be back so...don’t wait up, okay?” 

“I won’t, cariño.”

And then, Marívi closes the door, wishing them both a good evening as Raquel links her arm through Sergio’s, offering him a brand new dimension of warmth. 

She turns her head to face him, and the scent of her perfume awakens his senses in ways the evening breeze never could. 

“Ready?” he asks her with a smile, and she mirrors his contented expression. 

“Ready.” 

________________________________

The restaurant Sergio had chosen wasn’t anything particularly extravagant, but it was a little more upmarket than he was used to. 

He’d tussled with the idea of maintaining familiarity and taking Raquel to Hanoi, but in the end, it just seemed too predictable. They’d spent a considerable amount of time in Hanoi over the last six years, and he wanted this to feel different. 

He wanted somewhere that said _yes,_ we’re still just us, but _no,_ we’re not the same ‘us’ that we were before. Somewhere that communicated that they were two people on a _date_ , not two friends who had chosen somewhere to eat last minute. 

There was a certain ambience to the place, somewhat rustic with minimal lighting and candles on each table, and whilst it was a fairly small area, it didn’t feel too loud or overcrowded. 

Everything - both the environment, and the way things felt between them - was pretty much perfect. 

They just hadn’t quite gotten round to talking about what things between them _were._

Sergio had thought about bringing Lucía up on multiple occasions now, but no time felt like the right time. Besides, what was there to tell, really? He’d spoken to her as he said he would, and it turned out that she wasn’t all that surprised, anyway. 

Disappointed, a little pissed, but _not_ surprised. 

Apparently, Silene had accidentally let it slip at work that she’d only been set up with Sergio to help him get over Raquel, so in the end, she didn’t require that much of an explanation. 

The only person he really needed to explain himself to now was Raquel. He wanted to be with her. Properly. _Officially._ He just didn’t know how to approach it without looking like a complete fool. 

“Are we ready to order?” the waiter asks, pulling Sergio out of his train of thought. 

He looks to Raquel with a small smile, nodding to signal that he knows what he wants from the menu. 

She smiles back, averting her gaze to the waiter and opening the menu in his direction. “Could I have the seafood paella, please?”

The waiter nods enthusiastically, but there’s a certain perplexity about his expression. “Is that just for you?” he asks, narrowing his eyes at her. 

“Yes,” Raquel draws out, offering the gentleman an unassuming smile. “I-is that a problem?” 

“Not a problem at all,” he reassures her, starting to write it out on his notepad. “The dish is fairly big, madame, I-I just didn’t know if perhaps your friend here was going to share it with you.” 

Sergio swallows as the term leaves the waiter’s mouth. 

_Your friend._

He tries not to let the feeling manifest, knowing that the man was probably just being polite in not making any assumptions about their status, but it continues to get under his skin nonetheless - especially when Raquel doesn’t bother to correct him. 

“No,” she laughs politely, “I’ll definitely manage it alone.”

“Impressive,” the waiter grins somewhat flirtatiously, pissing Sergio off even _more._ “And for you, sir?” 

“I’ll have the tortilla please,” he says, clearing his throat just beforehand.

The waiter smiles, although it’s not nearly as affectionate as the one he seemingly reserved for Raquel. “Of course,” he says, “with onions?” 

Sergio nods, courteously. “With onions.” 

“Okay,” the waiter says, flashing Raquel another grin as they both hand over their menus, “thank you.” 

“Thanks,” Raquel mumbles back politely, but her eyes are set on Sergio, suspicious and questioning. “Are you okay?” 

“Of course,” Sergio replies, squashing his ridiculous insecurities and nudging at his glasses with his finger and thumb, “just preempting the food envy I’m going to have when your paella arrives.” 

Raquel’s face breaks out into a smile. “I can call him back if you want,” she offers teasingly, “you know, ask for an extra plate?” 

“No need,” Sergio maintains a poker face. “I can control myself”, he adds, unable to suppress a smirk as Raquel’s grin widens. 

“Good to know,” she teases. 

Her flirtatious nature relaxes him a little, guiding them back into conversation about anything and everything - stories about work, about their families, and the disclosure of any gossip worth sharing (although Raquel admittedly had far more to say on that front, particularly where Ágata was concerned). 

Without either of them actually declaring such, tonight was as much an opportunity to catch up as it was anything else - something they’d _never_ had to do in their six years of knowing one another. Over the last few weeks, they hadn’t the chance to talk daily in the way that they usually would, and Sergio finds himself hanging onto every last word they exchange, no matter how mundane the event being recited. 

“It’s something to do with this nature show that she’s taken a liking to,” Raquel continues, explaining to Sergio why her mother insisted on spending hours each day looking for shells whilst they were at the beach house, “she kept telling me it was... _what?”_

Sergio frowns. “What?” he relays back. 

“You were laughing at me,” Raquel says, her pitch significantly higher. 

“I wasn’t.” 

“You were!” 

“Raquel, I wasn’t.”

She huffs, petulantly. “Well, you were _smiling.”_

“I was smiling?” Sergio asks incredulously, trying to play off that he has _no_ idea what she’s talking about. If he’s being totally honest, he probably _was_ smiling - ridiculously so. He couldn’t help it, unaware that he’d even missed her _this_ much until she was sitting right in front of him, chatting away with such nonchalance. 

“You’re doing it again!” Raquel accuses, touching her lips with a paranoid expression, “do I have something in my teeth?”

Sergio shakes his head solemnly, adjusting his glasses as he so often does when he becomes acutely aware of his own awkward nature. “It’s, uh…” he pauses, hesitantly, “I-I’ve just really m—” 

“I’ve got the...tortilla!” the waiter announces with unnecessary enthusiasm, placing the dish in front of Sergio, “and the paella for _you_ ,” he draws out, putting Raquel’s dish down, too. 

They both express their thanks, and Sergio silently wills for the man to leave their table, keen to tell Raquel what it was that he wanted to say. 

“Can I get you both anything else? Any sauces? Any more drinks?” 

Raquel shakes her head, encouraging Sergio to say, “we’re fine, thank you.” 

“No problem,” the waiter says with a dismissive hand, averting his attention to Raquel again. “What did I tell you about this dish?” 

Sergio has to make a conscious effort not to roll his eyes, fiddling with his napkin as a means of distraction. 

“It is _quite_ the size,” Raquel jokes back politely, “but I’ll manage. I have a good appetite,” she smiles. 

It’s an innocent remark, Sergio _knows_ that. She has always been better than him at making pleasant conversation. She has alwaysknown how to be both polite and engaging, not socially inept and accidentally _rude_. 

But, he can’t help feeling that this _idiot_ is going to take it as some kind of invitation to flirt - especially given that he thinks they’re only friends. 

“Well, it’s good to hear a young woman say that.” 

Raquel snorts, picking up her fork. _“Young,”_ she scoffs, incredulously. 

“Really,” the waiter continues, “you must be _no_ older than thirty?” 

_Enough,_ Sergio thinks, quietly seething at the absolute audacity of this man. After a moment’s hesitation, he reaches across the table, placing his hand somewhat possessively over Raquel’s - gentle enough not to alarm her, but evident enough to enforce his point. 

The very second that it’s done, he’s flooded with regret, suddenly feeling like a foolfor letting someone get under his skin so much, a total _stranger,_ no less. Regardless, he commits to the decision, letting his touch linger as his thumb brushes tentatively over her knuckles. 

The waiter clears his throat a little uncomfortably, clearly aware of the point Sergio is trying to convey. “Enjoy your meals,” he announces politely, turning on his heels and making a swift exit from their table. 

Sergio hears a faint ‘thanks’ mumbled beneath Raquel’s breath, watching her as she lowers her gaze to the hand that lies over her own. 

He can’t really gauge what it is that she’s feeling, particularly with her expression angled towards the table, and it only opens the floor to _further_ regret. Is she angry? Upset? _Embarrassed?_

Oh _God,_ what if he’d embarrassed her? That’s the very last thing he wanted to do. 

Quickly, he pulls his hand away, a whispered apology falling from his lips as he nudges at his glasses, unsure of where to look. 

“Sergio, it’s—” 

“No, no, really, I…” 

“I don’t mind at _all,_ i-it’s just—” 

“What were we, uh…” Sergio stumbles over his words, swallowing hard, “before he, uh...the beach house!” 

Raquel frowns, seemingly confused at the immediacy of his will to change the subject. “The beach house?” 

_“Si,”_ Sergio continues, feigning nonchalance, “y-you were telling me about that, uh...that nature programme your mother is into now.”

“Right,” Raquel murmurs, clearing her throat as she pushes some food around her dish. She eventually looks up, sharing a smile with him as she returns to the story of Marívi and her shell fascination, but it’s obvious to Sergio that she’s had to make a conscious effort to do so. 

Maybe because of the anger. Or the upset. Or the _embarrassment._

He simply isn’t sure which - he just knows that he’s made the wrong call. 

________________________________

Raquel doesn’t understand. 

After six years of Sergio being such a huge part of her life, she thought she’d have him figured out by now. 

Of course, don’t get her wrong, most of the time she _does_ have him figured out. 

But, every now and again, her best friend will say something, or _do_ something, that catches her off guard, and she cannot fathom for the _life of her_ what it is that he’s thinking. 

Tonight in the restaurant, Sergio had pulled his hand away _so_ suddenly, and she’d spent the rest of their evening together trying to calculate why, all whilst trying to act like nothing at all was troubling her. 

When he first reached across the table, Raquel was amazed _._ She was _floored,_ and in the best possible way. Never in a million years had she imagined Sergio would be so forward in his actions, so communicative in showing both the waiter, and _her_ for that matter _,_ that she wasn’t exactly available to be approached in such a way. 

Because, let’s be honest, she knows that’s why he did it. 

That guy had been flirting with her right under Sergio’s nose, and she was meant to be out with _him._ Had the shoe been on the other foot, she would’ve been pretty pissed off, herself. Probably _worse_. 

But, no sooner had the waiter left the table, Sergio was pulling his hand away, tripping over his words and desperately trying to act like such a thing had never even happened. 

Raquel had tried to enter into a back and forth with him, arguing that he really hadn’t done anything to warrant an apology, but Sergio barely let her get a word out. In the end, she just dropped it, conscious of perhaps making him feel uncomfortable or turning it into something that it didn’t need to be.

Regardless, she failed _miserably_ at dropping it mentally, no matter how nice of an evening they went on to have. 

And, that much is true - they _did_ have a really nice evening, at least once they’d surpassed the initial discomfort that followed the moment. But, no matter how good their conversation, no matter how much he made her laugh or she made him roll his eyes fondly, the same, nagging question remained - _why_ had he felt the need to pull his hand away?

In the car on the way back, Sergio let Raquel choose the music, and they both settled in comfortably as she shuffled through his CDs, knowing full well that Van Morrison would be the one accompanying them home. 

Usually, Raquel would do all _but_ complain when it came to appreciating his music in silence, but on this occasion, sitting here beside him, every passing second feels like a heavy addition to the time they’ve already wasted apart. 

Especially as Sergio pulls up on her driveway, bringing their evening to a close with an amiable smile. “Well,” he exhales, “here we are.” 

Raquel nods agreeably. “Here we are,” she says. 

Silence envelopes them momentarily as the car comes to a standstill, and Raquel distracts herself with the zip of her handbag, pulling at it childishly as she hopes for some kind of progress in conversation. Sergio had been the one to ask _her_ out to dinner, after all. Sergio had been the one to call it a date in the first place. The least that he could do is end it like one, too. 

“Raquel, I...” he begins, inhaling sharply. “I had...the _best_ night tonight.” 

The look on his face tells her that he’s waiting for her to reciprocate the feeling - to tell him that _she’s_ had the best evening with him, as well. 

And, if she were to be truthful - she _has_. Any night in Sergio’s company has a tendency to surpass the enjoyment she feels around anybody else. 

But, that doesn’t quite out-do the frustration she feels. 

“You know,” Raquel sighs heavily, “this kind of...polite _nonsense_ is the _very_ reason we got into this mess in the first place.” 

Sergio glances across at her, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “I’m sorry?” he asks, his expression perplexed.

“Oh, _come on,_ Sergio,” she stresses, meeting his gaze, “don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. This whole... _treading on eggshells_ thing that we’ve got going on, you know? You telling me you’ve had the _best_ night, a-and then dropping me off like I’m just a friend you’ll see again next week. You holding my hand in the middle of a restaurant, and then acting like you wish you’d never even _touched_ me in public…” 

Raquel trails off, noticing the loss of eye-contact as Sergio’s gaze falls to his lap. She holds the floor open for him to say his piece, a weighted silence seated between them as she waits patiently, careful not to push too much further. 

“I thought…” Sergio starts eventually, his voice barely surpassing a whisper, “I thought I’d embarrassed you.” 

Raquel frowns, her heart sinking a little in her chest. “Embarrassed me?” 

“Yes,” Sergio says softly, nudging at his glasses without lifting his gaze. “You just seemed a little... _taken aback…_ by what I did. And i-it’s not at all like me to get so…” 

“Territorial?” Raquel asks, a small smile playing on her lips. 

_“That,”_ Sergio mumbles, evidently ashamed to be admitting to such. “I just felt like maybe you didn’t appreciate the way I…” the words die in his throat, replacing such with a dejected sigh. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” Raquel says without hesitation, reaching for his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. _“Hey,_ if some waitress had been flirting with _you_ like that?” she smirks at him, nudging their intertwined fingers into his leg, “I’d have done _way_ more than just hold your hand.” 

Sergio’s solemn expression breaks out into a smile, shaking his head as he laughs with her. When he lifts his eyes to meet hers again, there’s a nervous edge to his otherwise earnest nature. 

“I just…” he hesitates, swallowing dry, “I just wanted him to know that we were together.”

Raquel nods slowly. “And...are we?” 

Using his free hand to adjust his glasses, Sergio searches her expression for guidance. “I mean...i-if that’s what you want, then—” 

_“Eggshells_ , Sergio…” Raquel draws out, clicking her tongue in a teasing manner as she shakes her head at him. “Is that what _you_ want?” 

Wasting no more time, Sergio nods as he takes a steadying breath. “I do,” he says, holding her gaze cautiously. 

Raquel finds it nigh on _impossible_ to prevent the small smile on her face from breaking out into a huge grin. She hasn’t felt happiness like this in forever. “Then, I’m with you.” 

She frames the side of his face with her hand, repeating the phrase again for him to internalise. Tofinally _believe,_ after six whole years. “Sergio, _I’m_ _with you.”_

Just as the words leave her mouth, Sergio presses his lips against hers, kissing her with a longing passion that Raquel deems almost unrecognisable. 

It doesn’t feel driven by urgency or clouded by the label of their friendship, rather just flooding her body with the warmth of knowing that this time, they _have_ time. 

As Sergio pulls away, he drags her bottom lip with his teeth, allowing very little distance between them. “And, I’m with _you,”_ he murmurs quietly. 

“Hm,” Raquel hums, thoughtfully. “I guess this means we _are_ together, then,” she smirks, referencing the very question of their conversation with a teasing shine to her eyes. 

Sergio’s gaze reflects her own, and the look on his face conveys his answer better than words ever could. 

“I guess it does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!!
> 
> I promise the smut that you're all probably waiting for is on it's way in the next chapter😂
> 
> Let me know what you think (only if you want to, of course!!), and keep streaming 'illicit affairs' in 2021. 
> 
> You can find me on twitter at @sergiosraquel 💓


	19. for you, I would ruin myself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hola, mis amores!!!!
> 
> I'm back with the penultimate chapter of this story, and I honestly cannot believe we're so close to the end!😭
> 
> I am so so sorry that I haven't gotten round to replying to all of the comments left on chapter 18 - I'm terrible at organising my time (shock), but I will get to it, and I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking the time out to let me know what you think. It means the absolute world to me - really, it does.
> 
> I hope this chapter cures any of the anxiety that I caused with all of my teasing about a sad ending, and I pray that you guys enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> "People need hope. There's enough shit to grieve for in the real world" - Sara, ladies and gentleman. 
> 
> Maybe they do deserve a little happiness, after all❤️

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Sergio asks, his voice hushed as he kicks off his shoes in the doorway, pushing them neatly to one side. 

Rolling her eyes fondly, Raquel talks to him over her shoulder. “What did we _just_ talk about in the car?” she whispers back. 

Sergio holds both hands in the air, feigning surrender. “Yes, _eggshells,_ I’m sorry,” he responds quietly, “but it’s not that, it’s just…” 

Raquel takes her foot off the staircase, sensing his hesitation and turning to face him.

“...I don’t want to get in the way of anything, that’s all,” Sergio continues, earnestly. “Like Paula’s routine in the morning... o-or _yours_ for that matter.” 

Just as Raquel opens her mouth to reply, Sergio takes another breath, recalling their prior conversation and pushing himself to open up. “I-I do want to stay, though,” he confesses, readjusting his glasses, “just… only if it’s no trouble.” 

An affectionate smile is offered in his direction, accessorised with two adoring brown eyes. “Come on,” Raquel says softly, gesturing her head towards the top of the stairs. 

Sergio mirrors her contented expression, accepting the offer with a nod and following her up. He hangs back as she checks on both Marívi and Paula, more so to ensure her daughter is actually _home_ than anything else, and it doesn’t take him long to start pondering the fact that he doesn’t have anything here. 

In hindsight, he doesn’t know exactly how he was expecting their first proper date to end, but for one reason or another, he simply hadn’t anticipated that she would ask him to stay. If he’d known such a thing, he’d have been better prepared. 

Sergio has no toothbrush. No pyjamas (he _always_ wears pyjamas to bed). And, what’s more, no real awareness of his sleeping behaviours. Does he snore?Does he _kick?_ Is he one of those who always ends up with 90% of the duvet on their side? It’s been years since he’s shared a bed with another person _,_ and even _then_ it was only with Andres’ after his brother drunkenly passed out one New Year’s Eve. 

Suffice to say, Sergio saw _that_ new year in lying on topof the covers, afraid to move a single muscle.

In the end, he simply opted to sleep on the floor. 

“Are you okay?” Raquel’s voice infiltrates his internal monologue, pulling him back into the present moment as they walk into her bedroom.

“Of course,” he says quickly, closing the door with as little force as possible. “I was just...thinking.” 

“Ah,” Raquel muses, cocking her brow with a smirk. “Sounds ominous,” she remarks, starting to remove her jewellery and placing it all onto the dressing table, “not about that waiter, I hope.” 

“Yes,” Sergio scratches at this bridge of his nose, thoughtfully, “I’m thinking about how I _never_ want to think about him ever again,” he says, eliciting a laugh out of Raquel. 

“Claro,” she mutters, shaking her head fondly at him. “Although...for what it’s worth,” she adds, her expression falling sincere as she takes her hair completely down, combing through it with her fingertips, “I wasn’t all that interested.” 

Sergio nods with a knowing look etched upon his face. “No?” he hums.

“No,” Raquel confirms, walking towards him as he continues to hover just beyond the door. “He wasn’t really my type.” 

“Your _type?”_ Sergio draws out, widening his eyes at her as a small smile materialises on his face. “I didn’t realise you had a type.” 

With a slow nod, Raquel hums agreeably. “In fact, there was someone _just_ my type in the restaurant, but…” she hooks her fingers into the knot of his tie, loosening it considerably, “I’m not sure he noticed me.” 

“I’m fairly certain he did,” Sergio retaliates, trying to feign nonchalance. 

Raquel shrugs, an idle smirk on her face. “Maybe,” she mutters, succeeding in loosening his tie and pulling it apart in one swift movement. “I guess we’ll never know.” 

At that, Sergio’s pretence diminishes and he kisses her, punctuating such with the placement of his hands on either side of her face. He lets Raquel define the pace, only _partially_ unwilling to let his lust take over given the fact that her mother and daughter are in the house, but she doesn’t seem to mind one bit, prying his lips further apart with her tongue and granting him immediate access.

Every time that it happens - _every_ _time_ that he gets to relish in the feeling of tasting her like this - he has to remind himself not to lose composure, the overwhelming nature of it comparable to a teenager sharing a kiss with a crush. 

It isn’t even a case of how _good_ a kisser she is - in fact, he simply doesn’t have the experience to draw such a conclusion. 

It’s just because it’s her. 

It’s just because it’s _them,_ and Sergio will be damned if he ever tires of the feeling. 

Taking Raquel’s deepening of the kiss as a sure sign that they’re on the same page, Sergio starts to edge forward, backing her slowly towards the bed and receiving a sound of approval in return. Her hands clutch at the lapels of his suit jacket, both holding him close _and_ using such for balance as the back of her knees hit the edge of the mattress. 

Sergio shrugs himself out of the material as Raquel starts to push it off his shoulders, refusing any distance between them as he continues his fight for dominance in her mouth. The jacket falls to his feet, and Raquel wastes no time in working the buttons of his shirt, being all but nimble in her action as she practically tears them apart. 

“Raquel,” Sergio whispers against her mouth, finally letting go of her lips, but only _just._

She shifts her gaze from the buttons between her fingertips to the brown of his eyes. 

What Sergio had planned to say - a teasing remark that she was tampering with one of his best shirts - simply dies in his throat. How could he possibly make time for jokes when she was looking back at him as though she’d do _anything_ in the world that he asked of her in that moment. 

“Hm?” Raquel probes curiously, evoking a shake of the head from Sergio. 

“Nothing,” he murmurs, giving her no time to engage in any further questioning as he closes the distance between them again. 

Raquel takes advantage of the skin she managed to expose prior to the brief interruption, letting her hands roam across his chest and toying with the hair beneath her fingertips. Sergio’s attention wanders to her blouse, yanking it out of its neatly tucked position in her pants and slipping his hands beneath the material. 

The heat emanating from Raquel’s skin electrifies his fingertips, and he feels a shot of arousal course through him as she responds to his touch with a muted groan, encouraging Sergio to pull the whole garment over her head. He only half-looks to see where he tosses it, captivated instead by the way Raquel stands before him in a lace strapless bra, already fiddling with the clasp at her back and freeing herself from it. 

At that, Sergio rushes to undo the rest of his own buttons, adhering to a newfound desperation to feel her skin against his own. He struggles momentarily with the last two, opting for Raquel’s prior technique of just _tearing_ them apart and ridding himself of the material barrier between them, discarding such on the floor alongside Raquel’s blouse and his long-forgotten jacket and tie.

He snakes an arm around her waist, using the hand at the small of her back to press their bodies together as he starts to leave a trail of open-mouthed kisses at her neck, moaning lightly into the heat of her skin at the sensation of feeling her against him. 

Raquel’s head falls back as he brings his hands round to her front, undoing the button of her pants and pushing them down. He detaches himself from her neck, holding her gaze momentarily before dropping to his knees, guiding her trousers all the way down and pulling them from beneath her as she helps kick them off. 

Pressing his nose gently against her skin, Sergio works his way up the inside of her right leg, the sensation increasing the harshness of Raquel’s breathing. When he reaches the top of her thigh, she runs a hand through his hair, her grip only tightening with every wisp of air that she feels near her center. 

TIghter _still_ when he hovers his mouth directly over the dampening patch of her underwear, placing a featherlight kiss there and watching through his lashes for her reaction.

The breathy _“Sergio”_ that falls from her lips is enough to make him want to touch himself there and then, turning this into some quick and intense relief of tension that he so desperately didn’t want for it to be. That’s why he gets to his feet again, meeting Raquel’s gaze with the promise of _‘soon’_ in his eyes as he starts to drag his knuckles slowly up her stomach. 

His touch is gentle, of course, but firm enough for her to know that he wants her on the bed. Raquel obliges, shuffling backwards until she has a good enough view of the way he crawls up after her, stealing a kiss before he removes his glasses. 

They maintain eye-contact as he works his way down her body again, his hands brushing across every inch of skin that they can reach, and Sergio feels a rush of arousal everytime she arches up into his touch, letting him know that her patience is wearing thin. 

As he reaches _exactly_ where she wants him to be, Sergio sits back on his knees, looking at her with an expression that is equal in both desire and disbelief as he starts to pull down her underwear. 

Raquel lifts her body weight to assist him, and as Sergio spreads her legs apart, she shoots him a questioning glance. 

“What?” Sergio mumbles. 

“You’re looking at me like you were in the restaurant,” she discloses. 

Sergio clears his throat, suddenly conscious of his emotional transparency. “Sorry,” he mutters, trying to suppress the involuntary smile on his face. 

“Don’t be,” Raquel shrugs. “It’s nice to see a man so…” she waves her hands around thoughtfully, “... _happy_ to be going down on me.” 

Her face breaks out into a teasing smile then, and Sergio finds his own grin helpless to do anything but resurface. They share a passing moment of laughter, silenced by the intensity of Raquel’s gaze as Sergio tells her: 

_“You_ make me so happy.” 

And then, before she has the chance to say anything in return, Sergio lowers his face, running his tongue along the heat of her center and eliciting a stifled moan from Raquel. 

She clenches a handful of the bedsheet into her fist the second time that he does it, and the wet warmth of his mouth nearing her clit leaves her feeling too little and too _much_ all at once. 

“Please,” Raquel grits out, encouraging Sergio to give her exactly what it is that she wants. He squeezes the bare flesh on her thighs as he refocuses his hunger, closing his lips around the bundle of flesh that awaits his attention and swallowing a groan when he feels the way she pulsates against him. 

He can feel the impatience of his own desire, every sound that she makes sending a hot-blooded rush to the strain against his pants, but he won’t yet allow himself the luxury of giving into it, far too focused on just _giving_ full stop. 

To distract from the temptation of ripping his trousers apart and touching himself _senseless,_ Sergio drags one of his hands down the inside of Raquel’s leg, two fingers toying deftly at her entrance as he continues to pay heightened attention to her clit. 

When he eventually pushes the two fingers inside of her, Raquel lets go of the bedsheet, throwing her arm over her face in a bid to drown out the borderline _filthy_ noises that she’s making. 

Sergio curls them up over at just the right angle, humming against her as though he isthe one getting the pleasure from it all. The harder he works his fingers, the better she tastes on his tongue, and Sergio _feels_ the way she’s nearing the edge before she even gets the chance to tell him. 

As she moans hoarsely amid the movement of her hips against his face, Sergio finds his self-control falling apart, using his free hand to fumble desperately with the button and zipper of his own material restraint.

Upon his success, he shoves both his pants and boxers down in one swift movement, wrapping a hand around himself and whimpering unapologetically at the relief. 

He channels each jolt of ecstasy that he feels into the woman beneath his touch, fucking her with his fingers and his tongue until she comes in his mouth, his name falling from her lips in a jagged, breathless rhythm. 

Sergio rests his forehead against the inside of her thigh, retracting his fingers slowly as he takes deep, steadying breaths in time with her own. He’s trying his level best to be respectful, to be patient as she recovers in her own time, but _my_ _god_ does he need her right now. 

As though she’s reading his mind, Raquel reaches out, gesturing for him to come up there and join her. Of course, Sergio does as she silently asks, crawling up her body and bracing either side of her head with his arms.

“Are you okay?” 

Raquel nods, a small, incredulous laugh escaping her lips as she does so. “I’m a little more than okay,” she confesses, running her hands down his back and pulling their bodies into the closest proximity possible. “I want you.”

 _Fuck,_ if those words don’t have the most incredibly intoxicating effect on him. 

_“Raquel…”_ is all he manages to say before she switches their position, flipping Sergio onto his back and straddling him promptly. 

The last thing he’s witness to is the curling of her lips into a seductive smile, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as she sinks down on him at a torturous pace. 

Sergio hears her hissing slightly at the contact, obviously still sensitive from her orgasm, and so she takes a moment to adjust to the feeling. 

It takes every ounce of his strength not to start fucking into her like his very life depends on it, but there’s a part of him that also appreciates such a moment, refusing to take for granted how it feels to be this close to her again. 

His eyelids flutter open as she starts to move, her hands planted firmly on his chest as she grinds her hips against him.

The feeling is as soul-consuming as it was the first time, the second time, _every time,_ and Sergio can’t help but convey it in his body language, running the traces of her wet heat across her neck, her collarbones, her breasts, just anywhere that he can reach. 

He touches her like she’s fragile glass; a precious artefact that he cannot believe is in his possession, and it takes Raquel to say the words that he’s feeling in order for him to truly understand what’s going on in his own heart.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she rasps, removing his hands from her body and intertwining them with her own. She holds them above his head, resting her body weight over his and groaning into his mouth when he snaps his hips up to meet her halfway. 

The reciprocation dies in Sergio’s throat, his senses too overwhelmed to formulate a coherent sentence. Instead, he kisses Raquel with a desperation that she willingly returns, giving himself over to her so completely; his hands held tight by hers above his head, his hips braced by the spread of her legs, and his cock buried into her with every reckless movement they make. 

“You feel…” Sergio starts, guttural moans against her lips punctuating each word, “you feel so good.”

Raquel releases one of his hands, guiding it between their bodies and holding the warmth of his fingers against her. 

“Touch me.” 

Two simple words, but enough to confirm that if Sergio wasn’t already tauntingly close to his climax, he certainly is now. 

He starts to stimulate her clit with his fingers, captivated by the heightened pitch of every noise that she makes, and when she warns him that she’s close, he knows _exactly_ the feeling that she’s trying to communicate. 

It’s the irresistible sensation that builds so gradually, yet so _suddenly_ , and the tight clench around him as Raquel’s orgasm floods through her is the _very_ thing that brings Sergio to his own release. 

He says her name like it’s the only fucking word he knows in their own secret language, coming inside of her with a muffled cry. Raquel inhales the sound, brushing her lips against his with open-mouthed, _barely there_ kisses, as Sergio succumbs to indescribable pleasure with the one person he loves more than anything else in this world. 

It’s an ethereal feeling, one that he thought he understood before when they were sleeping together for fun. 

But this? This is something different. 

This is the realisation that he would go through every bit of heartache and frustration again, and again, and _again,_ if it meant feeling this close to her at the end of it all. 

________________________________

“Remember the night I took you on that date?” Sergio asks, his gaze settled ahead as they both bask in the feeling of the comedown. Their bodies are fused together beneath the sheets, his fingertips ghosting lazily across her arm, up and down, _up and down._

Raquel furrows her brow, her expression a little confused. “Tonight?” 

“No, not _tonight,”_ Sergio draws out, rolling his eyes fondly. “It was years ago, a-and I gave you a ride there. You were wearing a black dress, it had a...a sort of v-shaped neck—” 

“With the open back?” Raquel interrupts, joining his wave-length. 

“That’s the one,” Sergio nods. “I remember dropping you off by that little side street, and you asked if you could call me for a lift home. Naturally I said that you _could_ , but I was doubtful that you’d even need one.” He pauses, exhaling with light laughter as the very moment plays out in his head. “You looked back at me with this...this _insulted_ look on your face, and you said—” 

_“You’ve a lot to learn about me, Sergio.”_

His gaze falls to the woman in his arms, his lips torn between the simultaneous tug of both a disbelieving frown and a disbelieving _smile. “That,”_ he mumbles, feeling the grin that threatened itself take precedence. “You remember?” 

“Of course I do,” Raquel shrugs, snuggling a little further into him. “We hadn’t been friends for that long, had we?” she ponders. “A few months, maybe?” 

“Four months,” Sergio nods against the softness of her hair. “But, I was watching you walk away from the car and I just…” he swallows thickly, the motion of his fingertips on her arm coming to a gradual halt, “I just _knew.”_

Raquel cranes her neck to look up at him. She doesn’t say anything, her eyes simply holding a patient, although somewhat _expectant_ space, waiting for confirmation that he means what it is that she thinks he means. 

“I had this feeling in the pit of my stomach,” Sergio continues, shying away from the eye-contact and re-focusing ahead, “this realisation that wherever you would go...well,I would follow. A-and I sat by my phone that night, just... _joder,”_ he shakes his head gently, almost laughing at himself, “just hoping... _praying_ you’d need that ride home.” 

Raquel’s hand rests tentatively upon his chest, mapping out his heart with her fingertips. “And I did,” she contributes quietly, the softness of her tone acknowledging the fragile nature of Sergio’s situation at the time. 

“You did,” he confirms, a small smile on his face as he drops his gaze to meet hers. “I guess past me should thank you for the light relief.” 

Raquel hums in agreement, failing to maintain a serious expression as she giggles at his dry humour, muffling the sound of such into his neck. When she pulls back to look at him again, her sincerity resurfaces, reflecting the adoration that Sergio feels residing in his own eyes. “Past _you_ should’ve said something sooner,” she murmurs, taking an unsteady breath. “Past _me_ , too.” 

Sergio nods slowly. There’s a part of him that feels the need to apologise profusely, explaining the endless reasons as to why he chose not to be honest with her, but there’s a far louder voice in his head telling him that they’ve wasted enough time already. 

What would be the point in going over countless decisions he can no longer change? 

“Well...” Sergio starts instead with caution, clearing his throat. “Just in case futureme forgets to tell you at any point…” he places his hand over hers, a silence thick with anticipation lingering between them as he intertwines their fingers on his chest, “...I really love you.” 

The words fall from his lips naturally, like it’s the easiest thing to vocalise in the world, and he suddenly wonders why saying it aloud had instilled him with such fear for so long. 

How could feeling this way about another person be anything but a wonderful thing? 

Raquel releases a breath that she didn’t even know she was holding, an array of different emotions playing out in her eyes like a film reel. He witnesses a flash of playful contemplation, as though she’s considering saying something to tease him in return, but it disappears just as quickly. 

Instead, she leans up to kiss him, seeking a closeness that neither of them would find anywhere else, _with_ anyone else. Each time their lips touch, it is delicate and yet desperate; the will to make up for lost time combined with the knowledge that they _have time._

Raquel pulls away, but only just, nudging the tip of her nose tentatively against his. “I love _you,”_ she whispers back, stealing another kiss before settling down into his arms.

Truth be told, Sergio always assumed that lying in bed with another person would feel somewhat claustrophobic. That, should he ever find himself sharing a bed with another, he would most definitely suffer in the absence of personal space. 

And yet, as he reaches over to the bedside table to switch off the lamp, he finds himself doing so with as littlemovement as possible, unwilling to let go of her, even for so much as a second. 

Raquel mumbles his name like a question into the newfound darkness, her voice luring him out of his train of thought. 

“Mmhm?” he hums back, lazily. 

“I need you to know that…” she pauses, pressing a light kiss to his chest, “future me is going to be pretty _pissed_ if you ever forget to tell me something like that.” 

Sergio’s face breaks out into a smile, his expression so radiant that he’s surprised it doesn’t light up the room. “Is that so?” he asks, holding Raquel a little tighter as she nods against him. 

“Sí,” she clarifies.

“Okay,” Sergio exhales contentedly, bringing a hand up to run his fingers through her hair, “I guess I’ll just have to make sure I remember, then.” 

“Everyday?” Raquel whispers tiredly, but Sergio can hear the smile in her voice. 

“Everyday,” he promises, fairly certain that there will be no easier task in this _world_ than telling the woman in his arms that he loves her, day in, day _out._

It’s all he’d ever wanted to do for the last six years, after all. 

Now, lying here with her, he knows that it’s all he ever wants to do for the rest of his life. 

________________________________

As Sergio makes his way downstairs, he finds himself rehearsing the most _ridiculous_ justifications in his head, figuring out a way to explain to Paula why he was bursting through their kitchen door at half past seven on a Monday morning.

His nerves are foolish; the rational part of him knows this. After all, Sergio has already very much established a relationship with Raquel’s daughter - he loves her, and she quite clearly _adores_ him. 

It’s not like he’s meeting her for the first time, is it? 

And yet, he somehow feels under great scrutiny - like approaching the two of them amidst their regular morning routine was a test of sorts.

He’d woken up this morning in an otherwise empty bed, accompanied only by a note on the pillow beside him. 

_Sorry I had to leave you, cariño - just downstairs getting Paula ready for school. Feel free to use the shower, there’s a fresh towel in there for you, and a spare toothbrush (a kids one, sorry). Come down when you’re ready :)_

_P.S - no singing in the shower, mama is still in bed._

Whilst reading it, Sergio had gone through an array of emotions, starting with the swell of his heart at the term of endearment, then the smile on his face upon reading the added sentence. 

Momentarily, of course, he'd tousled with the disappointment of _not_ waking up in her arms, but it was quickly alleviated as memories of the night before came flooding back. There was the chance of waking up in her arms tomorrow, now. 

Or the _next_ day.

Or the day after that. 

Perhaps all of the above. 

And, what a fucking _glorious_ feeling that was. 

He got showered and dressed, finding contentment in the smallest of things - the heat of the water against his face, the taste of the toothpaste on his tongue, even the mundanity of making the bed when he got out of it. 

Everything just felt _right,_ and probably for the first time in his life, too. 

Still, such satisfaction isn’t enough to counteract the awkwardness he feels when he steps foot into the kitchen, Paula looking up from her cereal with both curiosity and contentment in her eyes. 

“Uncle Sergio?” she questions, although the smile on her face is telling enough that she’s far from displeased with his surprise appearance. 

“The very same,” Sergio replies in jest, the words almost sticking in his throat. 

“Are you going to have breakfast with us?” the youngster probes, rendering Sergio a little speechless. 

He’d been expecting an interrogation of sorts - Paula shooting curious looks at both him and Raquel, questioning why he’d just walked through the door at this time on a Monday morning. Instead, she seemed completely comfortable with the fact, acting as though this was something to be expected.

“Well…” Sergio starts, looking to Raquel for guidance on the best way to respond. He offers her a small smile, feeling somewhat guilty for not having greeted her properly yet, but it’s evident in her eyes that she understands his predicament completely.

“Of course he is,” Raquel interjects, her tone encouraging as she gestures with her head for Sergio to come over to her. “We want him to, don’t we, cariño?” 

Paula nods enthusiastically, and Sergio reaches out to ruffle her hair as he makes his way to Raquel. 

“Coffee?” she asks. 

“Please,” Sergio smiles. 

He wants to kiss her, even just on the forehead or the cheek, but he doesn’t know how much Paula knows yet, and the last thing he wants to do is confuse her, _or_ put Raquel in that position. 

She has to get to work at some point, after all, and Paula inundating her with questions about the nature of her relationship with Sergio wouldn’t exactly make that an easy process. 

Instead, he brings his index finger to his lips, kissing them lightly and then pressing them against Raquel’s cheek, a gesture that Paula would simply assume to be him wiping something off her mother’s face if she were to catch a glimpse of it. 

Raquel’s head leans into his touch, a shy smile on her face as she blushes in response to the gesture. “Hey,” she mouths, her voice barely surpassing a whisper. 

“Buenos días,” Sergio murmurs back. 

The question of how much Paula knows plays on his mind, ready to be asked, but the youngster interrupts before he gets the chance to voice it. 

“Mama said you had a sleepover,” she remarks boldly.

Sergio turns to face her, widening his eyes slightly at Raquel as he does so.

“Well…” he starts, nudging at his glasses with his finger and thumb. 

How could such a small person make him feel so _cornered?_

“The thing is…”

“It’s okay,” Paula interrupts him. She shrugs, taking a swift sip of her orange juice. “I don’t mind. I like having you here.” 

Sergio releases the breath he was holding, nodding promptly as a smile materialises on his face. “That’s, uh...that’s very kind of you to say,” he discloses, muttering a small thank you to Raquel as she hands him his coffee, “although...I’ll let you into a secret…” 

He places his mug onto the table, pulling out a chair and sitting across from Paula as Raquel butters some toast behind him. 

“I won’t be staying again if you don’t eat all of your breakfast,” he adds, pointing at the barely touched bowl of cereal before her. 

Paula blinks back at him with a poker face. “Mama told me this morning that she needs to use one of my drawers to put some of your things into.” 

She then scoops a mouthful onto her spoon, grinning contentedly at Sergio’s flummoxed expression. 

He feels two hands on his shoulders, and the reality of the situation starts settling in for him. Raquel has already told Paula that he’s going to be on the scene a lot more now - so much so that she’s willing to make space in her own house for him. 

“That’s only if Uncle Sergio wants to do that, cariño,” Raquel explains, giving his shoulders a light squeeze to communicate her apology for such a thing being thrust upon him. 

They hadn’t even had the discussion _themselves_ , after all. 

Sergio twists his neck to look up at her. He tries his level best to maintain composure, but the smile that breaks out on his face is telling enough. “You want me to bring some of my things here?” 

“I do,” Raquel says, nodding her head in confirmation. “Besides,” she adds, grabbing her toast from the counter and sitting down at the table, “it saves you coming downstairs in last night’s clothes.”

“This is true,” Sergio says, his grin broadening at the teasing nature of her tone. Although he’s giving himself a once over, metally cursing how creased his shirt is from spending the night on Raquel’s bedroom floor, he can still feel Paula’s lingering gaze on him.

“Are you mama’s boyfriend now?” 

Sergio feels immediate relief that he’s not drinking his coffee at present, fairly certain that he would’ve _choked_ on it had such been the case. He can see Raquel’s reaction within his peripheral vision - bemused, a little alarmed, but certainly not surprised. 

He clears his throat promptly, considering all of the different options available at present. Perhaps he could turn to Raquel for some kind of support, gesturing through his facial expression that he doesn’t quite know what it is that he should say. Or, maybe he could laugh at Paula’s suggestion, brushing it off with a diversion of conversation, asking the youngster something completelyunrelated. 

He could even be _honest_. 

He could look her dead in the eye and say that truthfully, he just didn’t know - just like last night, when he looked Raquel in the eye that _very_ same way, telling her that he really loved her. 

Just thinking about it reignites the feeling Sergio had experienced at the time - that liberating kind of vulnerability. 

All over again, he has the realisation that taking control also means giving up some of the control that he has held onto for so long. 

Granted, Raquel hasn’t talked directly to him about labels, but she _has_ talked about eggshells - a part of the narrative that Sergio is no longer willing to participate in. 

For _both_ their sakes. 

That’s why he offers Paula a resounding ‘yes’, captivating _all_ female presence in the room. 

_“Sí?”_ Paula grins wildly. 

Sergio nods with far more confidence than he truly harbours inside, sensing the intensity of Raquel’s gaze on him. 

“Sí,” he exhales.

Evidently satisfied with such a response, Paula goes back to eating her cereal, still smiling with every mouthful as Sergio feels a hand settle on his thigh. 

He turns his head to face the woman responsible for the touch, greeted by Raquel’s widened eyes and risen brow, the pull of a smile evident on her lips. _“Sí?”_ she mouths, repeating her daughter’s prior question. 

Sergio shrugs knowingly, placing his hand over hers. “Sí,” he confirms again, mirroring the sheer contentment on her face. 

Raquel shakes her head, a somewhat disbelieving laugh escaping her lips as she presses her mouth to his own, communicating the fact that he couldn’t have given her daughter a better answer. 

This must be _it,_ he thinks - that uncompromising happiness that people so often speak of. 

The all-consuming side-effect of being completely in lovewith another person, but better still. 

Knowing that they’re _completely_ in love with you, too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, Sergio. You precious fucking thing. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! If you want to, I would absolutely love to hear what you think!! :)
> 
> I'll be back when I can with the very last chapter, and in the meantime, stream _whatever_ you want - they've progressed past the need for 'illicit affairs'...they're too happy. 
> 
> And, what a wonderful thing that is to say😇
> 
> You can find me on Twitter at @sergiosraquel 💓
> 
>  **ADDED NOTE:** I have decided not to continue with this story for now, and have marked this chapter as the final chapter. I didn't want to leave people hanging, waiting for an update, and at the moment I unfortunately have to commit to achieving better emotional health for myself. Leaving the story ''open'' is causing me to put pressure on myself to hurry back and write the final instalment, so for now I don't want to promise anything and to just assume this story finished. Maybe one day I will come back to it when I feel ready, but I just need to close the door for the time being. Thank you so so much for the continued enthusiasm and support, I have so much love for everyone who has given this story their time and I am so sorry for any possible disappointment (not that i think my story is a big deal, but just in case) - I really hope you guys understand❤️


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